


30 Day Challenge

by amarillogrande



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, AU, Canon, Ficlet, M/M, Various universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 23,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1981011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarillogrande/pseuds/amarillogrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 Day OTP Writing Challenge</p><p>Each day, a new prompt.</p><p> </p><p>Masterlist on Tumblr: <a href="http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/91270497008/30-days-of-writing-pt-2-for-ships">x</a></p><p>Tag: <a href="http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/tagged/30+days">x</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pain
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/91278733393/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)
> 
> Soccer AU

Dean stretches, wincing as a kink in his back pops.

Practice hadn’t been going too well today. Sam was trying to help as much as he could, obviously, but he couldn’t do much with that brace on his leg. And Coach Singer was being fucking brutal, practically barking orders, putting them through their paces. He had gotten pissed and sent half the team through suicide runs just because he could, and now Dean was seriously wondering if he had pulled a muscle.

“Winchester! Front and center!”

Dean grimaces, tugging on his gloves.

He was crap today. He knows it, Bobby knows it. Sam knows it too—and that perhaps hurts the most. His little brother, regulated to the sidelines because of a torn ACL, and now he has to watch Dean be a failure.

Bobby blows his whistle, and everyone lines up in a solid line in front of the goal.

Penalty kicks. Of course. Just the icing on the cake of the fucking shitty day he’s had.

But that just makes Dean wants to try more.

 

He dives, because all he can do is dive, but most of them go in, and with each goal, his frustration increases. He feels like Bobby’s just punishing him at this point.

He breaks briefly in between shots and chugs some water, not caring when most of it spills all over his face. He tosses the bottle aside and turns to see who’s up next.

  
Roman. That fucker Dean hates more than anyone on the goddamn team.

The man gives him an oily-black smile, all teeth.

“Bring it, asshole,” Dean mutters under his breath.

  
Roman takes his time, but finally he winds up. The shot comes, and Dean dives, falling to the grass—

He’s only conscious of his hands roughly hitting away the ball before everything goes black.

  
He wakes up to a soft hand tapping his face.

“Hey.  _Hey_. You okay?”

Dean blinks his eyes open to a wide set of blue eyes, peering at him intently. And a whole wall of pain, banging around the inside of his skull.

"Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbles.

He tries to sit up, but the voice belonging to the eyes gently pushes him back down.

“Whoa, whoa. Take it easy.”

Dean fights against the blurriness of his vision, blinking a couple times.

Such nice eyes. And all four of them too.

Wait. What?

  
“I think he has a concussion,” he hears the voice say.

“What’s his name?”

“Dean.”

“Dean? Can you hear me?”

There’s a light shining in his eyes, and Dean scowls, trying to squirm away from it. The voice speaks again.

“You hit your head against the goalpost on that last shot.”

Dean processes this. Then he frowns.

“Did I…did I save it?”

The man chuckles.

“Yes, you  _saved it.”_

He tilts Dean’s head gently, checking him over.

“At the cost of some sleepless nights, I’m afraid,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Dean finally focuses long enough to see all the faces crowding around them. He can see his brother, hovering in the background as the team medic tends to him. Dean vaguely recognizes the dude.

“You’re…”

He coughs, tugging at his wrist.

“Cassiel. Right?”

“Castiel,” he corrects kindly. “But you can call me Cas.”

“Cas,” Dean repeats. “I like it.”

Castiel laughs again, and Dean feels ridiculously lightheaded. Or maybe that was his system going into shock. Who knows.

“Most people like it, too,” he says conversationally, helping him sit up. “A lot shorter than Castiel.”

“I like  _you_ , Castiel,” Dean mumbles, his brain sinking into blackness.

There’s a slap on his cheek, urging him back to reality.

“None of that now. You can’t go to sleep with a head injury like that,” Cas says, slinging an arm over his shoulder and heaving him up. “Not for at least 12 hours.”

“I have to stay up all night?” Dean smiles dopily at those eyes. “Whatever am I to do?” He slurs, grinning at him.

There’s another solid weight at his other side, and then his brother’s voice, equal parts worried and grumbly.

“Typical. Guy’s got a minor head wound, and tries to use it as an excuse to hit on you.”

Dean flushes. He may have been drooling over the guy ever since he got recruited to the team, but Cas didn’t need to know that.

“Shut up, Sam,” he growls. But Castiel just laughs.

“Tell you what.”

  
They sit him down on the bench, and Cas smiles as he finishes patching him up.

“You take care of yourself for the next two weeks, and when you come back to practice, we’ll talk.”

Dean smiles, unfocused. The pain was still there, but it had tapered off into a dull throbbing. Maybe Cas had healing hands.

“Sounds good, Cas.”

Cas gives him a wry smile. He places those fingers to Dean’s temple, probably just to check him again, but Dean could swear his hand lingers.

Cas packs up his stuff as Sam fusses over Dean, disappearing to grab some ice. Coach Singer beckons Cas over, and he straightens, signaling that he’s coming. He turns back to Dean, peering intently at him.

"You sure you’re going to be alright?"

Dean nods.

"Yeah. Sammy’ll take care of me. More like hover, but he’ll make sure I don’t die," he jokes. Cas smiles.

"Well, then."

Cas slings his bag over his shoulder.

“Guess I’ll have to keep you up all night some other time.”

Then in a heartbeat, he’s heading back off to the field, leaving Dean gaping after him.

He blinks a couple times.

  
God bless penalty kicks.

 


	2. Enthralled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Enthralled
> 
>  
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/91378039068/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)
> 
> High School AU

“Enthralled.”

“Cas…”

“ _Enthralled._ ”

Dean sighs.

“Captured or fascinated by.”

“Correct. Nugatory.”

“ _Nugatory?_  What the hell is that, some kind of gay club—“

“No, not Purgatory. Nugatory.”

“Um.”

Dean taps his pencil on the desk.

“Uh, land full of nougat.”

“Very funny. But no.”

 

Castiel squints at the paper.

“Of no importance or value, as in ‘a nugatory observation.’”

“Are you sure that’s in there? That sounds made up.”

Castiel flips through the study guide, frowning.

“Afraid not.”

Dean tucks his pencil behind his ear, flopping down on the table. He props his chin on top of his folded arms.

“Can’t we take a break? We’ve been at this for hours, dude.”

Castiel glances at his watch.

“Dean, it’s been 25 minutes.”

Dean groans, stretching.

“Yeah, but I’m  _bored_.” He glances out the window, scratching his stomach.

“And it’s gorgeous outside, Cas, c’mon. We could play basketball, I think Sammy got our hoop set up in the back—“

“You were the one who asked me to help you study.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think we’d  _actually_  study.”

Dean smirks, sliding closer to him.

“Just an excuse to get you up into my room.”

Castiel bites back his smile as Dean slips an arm around his waist.

“Liar.”

“Maybe.”

Dean starts kissing his neck, and Castiel clears his throat, tapping the page again.

“Beseech.”

“Cas…” Dean groans.

“Dean Winchester, I am not kissing you until you’ve studied so that you pass the SAT and get into a good school. Come on.”

“Beseech. To implore. As in Cas, I implore you to come into my bed and fool around with me.”

“Acerbity.”

Dean huffs, sitting back.

“Sourness, aka definitely the vibe I’m getting from you right now.”

“Alacrity.”

“Cheerful willingness, which I’m demonstrating remarkably well during this whole study sesh, if I do say so myself.”

“Avow.”

Dean gets that mischievous glint in his eye, and he slides back over to Castiel, gently lifting his hand from the page.

“To declare openly,” he murmurs, bringing that hand up to his lips. He presses a kiss to his knuckles, and Castiel swallows.

“How about…”

He loses his train of thought as Dean’s other hand finds his thigh.

"Smitten. Smitten?" Castiel blurts out, his pulse kicking up a notch.

Dean smiles. “Very much in love,” he replies softly. He moves his lips up his arm, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s.

“And, uh…infatuated?” Castiel whispers. Dean loops his arms around his neck.

“Hmm.” He tilts his head. “Head over heels?” Dean asks, smiling.

“I don’t think they accept idioms as definitions,” Castiel breathes, closing his eyes at the touch of soft lips on his jaw. Dean chuckles.

“Kinda killing the mood, Cas.”

Castiel snorts.

“Incorrigible,” he mutters. Dean laughs against his skin.

“I think you meant adorable.”

He takes Cas’s hand where it rests on his throat, pressing his forehead to his own.

They hold still, breathing in the warmth of their shared space in the late afternoon air.

"One more definition," Castiel murmurs. Dean huffs, but pulls back, tugging Castiel by the hands to the bed.

"Hit me," he says. Castiel smiles, curling his fingers into Dean’s.

"Mine," he says softly, meeting those eyes.

Dean smiles.

“Yours.”

 


	3. Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Game
> 
>  
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/91490039663/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)
> 
> Canon - Bunker

“Okay, go slow. Slow, slow, slowwwwwwww.”

Dean moans.

“Yeaaah ease it, just like that—“

“Dean.”

“Come on, baby, you’re so _close_ —“

“Dude, could you make that sound any more dirty?”

“Shut up, Sam. I’m trying to help.”

 

Castiel refrains from rolling his eyes. He knows what Dean’s up to, but he won’t let it affect his concentration.

“Cas likes it. Don’t you, Cas?” Dean says, winking at him.

“Yes, Dean. I am aware you are making reference to anal sex and it is very humorous,” Castiel deadpans.

Sam chokes on his beer, and Dean flushes bright red.

“Dude,” he mumbles. Castiel smirks.

He successfully wiggles the wooden block from its slot and holds it up triumphantly.

“Bingo.”

“Wrong game,” Sam says dryly, coughing a little to rid his lungs of the last traces of beer. Dean scoffs, a slight tinge of pink still on his cheeks.

“Don’t gloat yet, smartass. Still gotta put it on top.”

Castiel leans forward.

“He does like me on top,” he says, quiet enough so only Sam can hear. He chokes again.

“Jesus, Cas—brain bleach, _now_.”

Castiel grins.

 

Dean smacks Castiel’s hands away as soon as he places the block on top of the tower, selecting his own and promptly collapsing the whole thing.

“Fuck,” he grumbles. Castiel picks up a piece that had fallen off the table.

“I believe they call that Jenga.”

Dean starts shoving the blocks back in their box, scowling. Castiel leans back in his seat, examining his own beer bottle briefly before taking a sip.

“I have to say, I do not understand the attraction of this game,” he says honestly. “It is far too easy to examine the tower and note its structural weaknesses. Then you simply avoid those tiles.”

Dean throws the Jenga box back in the cabinet, huffing.

“Then what are we supposed to do, Cas?”

Castiel frowns. Their attempt at “Bunker Game Night” had been an…epic fail, as Dean so eloquently put it. Even with the treasure trove of games they had discovered in the Men of Letters’ stores.

Dean continues.

“Seriously, dude. You beat me in like, five moves in chess, you’re hopeless at charades, and don’t even get me started on your poker face—“

“Perhaps that one?” Castiel interrupts, pointing at another box. Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Scrabble?”

He blinks at it for a minute, then he shrugs.

“Whatever. I’m game. You gonna play, Sammy?”

Sam assents and pulls up a chair after grabbing them all another round. They settle into the game, bickering happily.

 

“Rugaru counts,” Dean says haughtily, after Sam expressed his dissatisfaction with Dean’s play. “It exists, and we hunted one, so it counts.”

He leans back in his chair, triumphantly writing down his triple word score. Sam digs out the rulebook, flipping through it with little-brother impatience.

“Ha—no, _no_ , it does not. It says ‘only words in the dictionary are acceptable’—“

“Well I got the scorepad, so I make the rules,” Dean retorts.

“That’s totally not how it works!”

 

Castiel ignores them and takes his turn as Dean and Sam get in a tug of war over the pad. Dean eventually manages to wrestle it away, sitting on it for good measure. He turns back to the board, frowning when he sees what Castiel has just played.

“Hoath?” He asks, squinting. “That’s totally not a word.”

“It’s pronounced Ho-ah-teh,” Castiel corrects. “And it is indeed a word. In Enochian.”

“Enochian?” Sam repeats, snorting. “Pretty sure that doesn’t count either.”

He flips through the rulebook, pointing at a line of text.

“Says right here,” he says, after scanning it briefly. “Only words of the English language.”

Dean frowns, his brow furrowed.

“What does that mean?” He asks. “It sounds vaguely familiar.”

Castiel adjusts one of the tiles slightly.

“It should. It means love, lover, beloved. I believe I have called you that before.”

Dean turns bright red. Sam claps a hand over his mouth, at the last second turning the laugh into a cough.

 

Castiel fingers the tile.

“But I understand. If it is not a valid move—“

“I’ll allow it,” Dean blurts. Sam scoffs.

“Dude—“

“ _I’ll allow it_ ,” he says, hiding his flaming cheeks behind the scorepad.

 

“How many points, Cas?” he asks gruffly. Castiel smiles.

“Eleven, Dean. Thank you.”


	4. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Silence
> 
>  
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/91562612408/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)
> 
>  
> 
> Set in a hypothetical end of the world situation

 

 

 

After they return to the bunker, they mostly just sit in silence. Sam is sitting with his laptop open, but Castiel can see that he isn’t really focused on the screen. His eyes keep sliding off to the side and fixing at a point on the floor, his normally kind face filled with worry. Dean is similar. His brow is furrowed as he walks up to Castiel, a beer in hand. He holds it out and Castiel accepts it without a word.

“So. Last night on Earth.”

Dean tries to laugh.

“What do you want to do?”

 

  
Castiel had found it several weeks back, but he hadn’t shown him yet. The Men of Letters apparently had built their own astronomy tower, and Castiel discovered there was a small ladder that led to the roof. They climb silently, Dean struggling as he works his way up, as he had insisted on bringing the rest of the six-pack with him. But eventually they find themselves on the roof, in the cool night air.

They perch at the edge, breathing together. It’s not too high up, not too cold, and everything around them is dark. The nearest town is a couple of miles away, only a slight smattering of lights to indicate its presence.

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen this many stars. It only compares to those couple of times he and Sam would park the Impala in an abandoned field, looking up into the night sky, not needing to talk.

Dean sits down next to Castiel and crosses his legs, resting his bottle on the edge of the roof. He looks over the edge, and has to take a deep breath.

“I ever tell you I have a fear of heights?”

Cas raises an eyebrow.

“Really?”

Dean laughs. “Yeah. Won’t even get on a plane.”

He smiles, remembering.

“Of course, last time I voluntarily got on a plane, it was haunted. So there’s that.”

Cas looks down and smiles. Dean takes a sip from his beer.

“Yeah…Never liked flying.”

Cas’s face is pensive as he turns it up to the stars.

“It’s not so bad.”

Dean realizes what he’s said and mentally kicks himself. Bashing flying to a guy who’s lost his wings.

“Sorry, Cas, I—“

Dean stops. Cas doesn’t say anything.

“I guess—with you…it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Cas turns those lantern eyes on him. Dean holds his breath. He had said it, and he had meant it. Why hide anymore?

But Cas just smiles.

“I would have liked that.”

  
They lean back, propping their legs up on the gutter, pointing out especially bright stars, and the occasional meteor that streaks by. Dean shows Cas the constellations, telling him the handful of stories he remembers from the battered book of Greek mythology Sam brought home from school one year. Cas listens, but mostly corrects him, saying he knew the gods and their various children, and that the legends are greatly embellished.

But it doesn’t stop Dean from tracing the shape of Aquarius in the night sky, telling Cas all about Zeus and Ganymede, the water bearer, and how he was honored for his service to the gods, and eventually placed among the stars.

It had been one of the first constellations he had bothered to learn. Dean doesn’t really believe in all that astrology crap, but he takes a kind of pride in knowing the story about his sign. He had tried explaining horoscopes to Cas, but he had mostly frowned at Dean throughout his explanation, telling him how “illogical” it was that the stars could control one’s fate. Dean had rolled his eyes, saying,  _okay Spock_ , and stopped trying.

Cas chews his lip, thinking.

“If I recall correctly, Ganymede died rather horribly. Ares had challenged him in a fight to the death. He was no match for him, of course. There was a lot of blood.”

Dean kind of looks at him a second before he bursts out laughing. Cas raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

Dean rubs his eyes, still chuckling.

“Wow. Way to keep the mood light, Cas.”

Cas frowns. “I’m sorry.”

Dean smiles as he takes another sip of beer.

“It’s okay, man. We just gotta work on your timing.”

They lapse back into a comfortable silence, and Dean rolls the bottle around in his hands.

  
“Met Zeus, actually. Dude was kind of a dick.”

Castiel nods thoughtfully.

“That would be my description of him as well.”

Dean laughs, draining the last of his beer.

“You want another one?”

Cas nods and Dean pulls two more out of the pack, cracking the bottle caps off, letting them drop and fall off the roof. When he doesn’t hear them hit the ground he remembers the distance below them, and panics for a second. But then he feels him, remembers that Cas is there, that Cas is next to him, slowly breathing, in and out, and that calms him down. Cas won’t let anything happen to him.

They go back to staring up at the stars. It’s a cloudless night. There’s no moon. Only the starlight illuminating them as they sit and think, the quiet stillness of the woods surrounding them, the sound of liquid being swilled around and swallowed, and the occasional clink of a bottle.

Dean looks at the stars and feels small. He sighs.

“How did we get here, Cas? How do we always get here?”

Cas shifts slightly, turning to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

Dean shakes his head.

“I don’t know…End of the world. Judgment Day. We’re always caught in the middle of it.”

Castiel takes a drink from his beer.

“We do seem to have a talent for that,” he murmurs.

Dean snorts.

“Just once, I’d like an apocalypse that we had nothing to do with.”

Just showed the state of their lives. He would look forward to the end of world, as long as he wasn’t the one who caused it.

He looks at Cas, looks at him as he drinks from the bottle, and he swallows.

He hasn’t responded, but Dean doesn’t mind. He thinks you can learn the most about someone through their silence.

“How many last nights on Earth do you think we can manage, Cas?” He asks quietly.

_Why hide anymore?_

Castiel turns those blue eyes on him.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “But I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

  
Dean doesn’t know who moves first. All he knows is that his hands have found Cas’s face and that his mouth is on his, warm and wide, and Dean is lost.

"Dean," he breathes, and Dean nods desperately, losing himself in the slide of Castiel’s lips over his jaw and his throat. Because he knows. He knows.

They curve into each other, greedy and starved for it, and Dean doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want to think about how they might die tomorrow, he doesn’t want to think about how he’s an idiot for not doing this sooner—he just wants Cas. And as Castiel melts underneath him, one hand tangling in his hair, the other finding his, Dean silently tells him he agrees. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

They get so carried away that they knock over Dean’s beer, lying forgotten, falls and spills all over the place, then rolls off the roof and smashes on the pavement below.

They’re shocked by the noise after the still of the night, and they break apart, panting. They stare at the shards of glass below for a second, trying to catch their breath. Then Cas looks at him, with a devilish grin Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen before, and he suddenly hurls his own bottle off the roof.

They both flinch as they hear it shatter, and then Cas starts laughing.

Dean kinda stares at him in amused surprise. He can’t ever help staring at Cas—but now, with this new thing—wild and raw in between them, it's so different. He’s unbelievable really—standing there, hair all whipped up and wild from the wind and Dean’s wandering hands, cheeks flushed, teeth glinting in the starlight as he looks over the edge of the roof. Dean wishes he had a camera.

Cas’s laughter softens, but Dean doesn’t want it to end. So he reaches for the empty bottle behind him, locking eyes with Cas for a brief second, before he throws it over the side of the roof. He didn’t think Cas was one for petty vandalism. But hey, why the hell not?

They’re like drunk college kids, hooting and laughing as they throw every bit of glass they can find down onto the pavement below.

Christ, breaking things felt good.  Dean isn’t even scared of being up so high anymore.

They stand at the edge, looking over at their handiwork, a haphazard pile of shattered glass all over the walkway leading up to the bunker. Dean laughs.

“Sam is gonna kill us.”

Cas reaches out and takes his hand.

“Another last night on Earth, then.” He pulls Dean around to face him. 

  
“What do you want to do?”

 

 


	5. Fingertips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fingertips
> 
>  
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/91659101068/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)
> 
> Blind!Dean

Everyone’s are different, Dean thinks.

  
Not a lot of people have let him touch them over the years, but the hands he’s held are varied like he imagines colors to be, and he remembers each one like a tattoo in his mind, the feeling and shape of those hands burned in his memory.

Sam’s, familiar and warm, often helping him navigate unfamiliar spaces and new terrains. His mother’s, vague and hazy, but delicate and soft all the same. His father’s, rough and smeared with grease whenever he returned from the garage.

Dean knots his hands together. His own fingertips are his lifeblood, his savior, his sight. Without them, he isn’t sure what he’d do.

They are one of the things on his body that isn’t damaged—

_No, not damaged, Dean. Don’t think of yourself that way_ —

They are one of the things on his body that are strong. Yes, that’s better. Gifted, Sam always says. They are the paths through which he enters other worlds, and let him picture the images in his head that he will never see.

He runs his fingers over the small line of dots, smiling absently.

“Getting good?”

  
Dean looks up—or rather, he tilts his head to the direction of Cas’s voice, and he grins.

“Yeah. Montag just stole the book from the bonfire.”

“Oh, that’s a great part. And it only gets better.”

He hears Cas sit next to him, slough off the messenger bag he carries from his shoulder, then run a hand through what Dean knows is a perpetually messy knot of hair. Dean often jokes that people think Dean styles Cas’s hair for him.

“You know I can’t concentrate when you stare at me like that.”

  
Cas’s elbow slips off the table, a little shocked noise escaping him.

“I was not staring,” he says indignantly, cheeks probably spreading with a delicate flush.

“Yes, you were,” Dean smirks. “I heard you.”

Cas’s chair scrapes, and then his hands are on Dean’s neck, trailing the line of skin down his throat. Those fingertips, burning hot whenever they skim over his naked body, hard and talented when they need to be, but always cool and gentle.

“Am I really that obvious?” He murmurs, his breath tickling his ear. Dean grins.

“Don’t need my sight to see how gone you are on me, Cas,” he whispers back.

Cas chuckles, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

  
“Just shut up and read to me.”

 


	6. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hurt
> 
>  
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/91761265903/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)
> 
> Canon - Bunker

“WHAT IS LOVE?”

  
Castiel snaps his head up, disoriented.

  
“BABY DON’T HURT ME!”

Castiel blinks a couple times, sliding his eyes over to Sam at the table beside him. He hasn’t even looked up from his book.

“DON’T HURT ME.”

Castiel sets down his own book, squinting. There’s a dull throbbing pulsing through the walls of the bunker, coming from the direction of the garage. Castiel raises an eyebrow, glancing at him questioningly, but Sam just shakes his head.

“Dude. Don’t wanna know.”

“NO MORE!” Comes the roar of the music again. Castiel swears the table underneath his hand is vibrating.

  
Castiel stares for a moment, debating. Then he stands, flipping his book closed and heading off down the hallway, the thumping music guiding him all the way.

“WHAT IS LOVE?”

He finally reaches the door to the garage, and he hesitates a moment, one hand on the door handle.

“OOHHHH YEAH!”

Castiel sighs.

  
He slides the door open, stepping out onto the tile floor. He navigates the endless rows of cars to where the music is loudest, only to see just what he expected.

The Impala’s parked next to the wall, in the slight dip where the hoses and the drain is, and then there’s Dean, flailing around and getting water over everything in the nearby vicinity.

Half of the car is covered in suds, and the radio is blasting from the corner, perched safely out of the water’s reach. Dean is doing something which can’t really be called dancing, in time to the song, barefoot and sopping wet.

  
“I don’t know—“

Dean whirls, pointing to an imaginary audience.

“You’re not there,” he croons, using the hose as a microphone.

“I give you my loooooooove, but you don’t care.”

Castiel crosses his arms, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

Dean catches sight of him and grins, wiggling his hips.

“What is right—“

He shimmies up to Castiel, beckoning a finger.

“What is wrong? Gimme a siiiiignnn.”

Castiel snorts, shaking his head.

He opens his mouth to tease him, only to get a shot of water to the face.

  
“Pffftbtff—Wh— _Dean_.”

He sputters and wipes his face, but Dean only grins and sprays him again. Castiel tries to dodge it, glaring at him.

“DEAN.”

“Ha-ha,” he taunts. “Not so fast are you?”

Castiel growls.

“Do  _not_  do that again.”

Dean pulls an innocent face.

“Or what?”

He flicks his wrist, sending another spray of water over Castiel.

“Dean—“

“Gotcha!”

He tries to douse him again, but Castiel dips and successfully avoids it. He turns, glaring at him.

"Okay."

He rips off his now-soaking trenchcoat and throws it aside.

“You asked for it.”

  
Castiel starts to chase him around the car, lunging and grabbing for the hose. Dean whoops and darts away from the pissed off and sopping wet angel, belting at the top of his lungs.

“WHAT IS LOVE—“

“Dean—“

Castiel manages to grab his wrist, but Dean twists away from it, wrenching out of his slippery grip.

“Baby, don’t hurt me—“

Castiel dives, but Dean dodges him and scrambles to the other side of the car, soaking him again.

“Dean Winchester, you give that to me right now—“

“C’mon, Cas, don’t  _hurt_  me—“

“So help me, I will smite you—”

“No mor—auughh!”

Castiel succeeds in tackling Dean and they crash to the slick floor, the hose going wild and completely drenching them both.

  
Castiel rolls him over and pins him, shoving him to the tile.

“You are insufferable,” he mutters. Dean grins, twisting his hips.

“You love it,” he fires back, smirking. Castiel scowls, but he can feel a grin tugging at his lips.

Dean grabs the front of his shirt, wet fingers gripping wet cotton.

“I want no other, no other lover…” He starts to sing, but Castiel fixes him with a dangerous glare, and he quickly stops.

“Dean,” Castiel growls. “I think you should quit wasting water and finish washing your car.”

Dean opens his mouth to retort, but Castiel shuts him up quickly. Dean arches up into the kiss, his gasp of surprise lost in the echo of the walls around them.

Castiel breaks away and Dean blinks dazedly, his eyes unfocused. Castiel leans down.

"Then I strongly suggest you find your way to my room afterwards," he whispers in his ear.

Dean’s eyes go wide. He nods furiously. Castiel smirks, rolling off him and strutting towards the door.

  
A couple hours later, they manage to tumble out of bed, sweaty and exhausted, and Sam yells at them for leaving puddles all over the floor, (And is really pissed about the lack of soundproofing in the bunkers walls.)

 


	7. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Roses
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/91863758195/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)
> 
> Endverse

Cas is holding a rose when Dean finds him.

  
“Jesus, Cas, it’s freezing,” he mutters.

He pulls his jacket off and drapes it over Cas’s shoulders, but he doesn’t react.

He’s sitting by the Impala, one hand on her rusted frame, smilng absently as he turns it over in his fingers. Dean sighs.

“Where did you get that?”

Cas doesn’t answer him. Dean shuffles back and forth, sticking his frozen hands in his pockets. He hasn’t seen a rose in years.

“Cas, you know you’re not supposed to go outside without backup.”

_Without me._

 

Cas is silent. Dean waits for a moment, then crouches down next to him, watching.

Dean’s knees are cramped and stiff by the time Cas speaks.

“I have always loved the symbolism you humans attribute to the rose,” he says idly, tugging at one of the petals. “Love. Beauty.”

Cas delicately pulls it off and lets it drift to the ground.

“Dangerous and beautiful,” he says, running his thumb over one of the thorns. “And yet you adore them. You chance the danger to present them to loved ones.”

Cas’s hands are steady as he pulls another petal away. Weed, then.

“Amazing, don’t you think?”

Dean doesn’t answer. Instead he holds out a hand.

“C’mon, Cas,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you inside.”

Cas ignores him. He’s probably still pissed from yesterday, when Dean invited him into his bed, then flushed all his pills when Cas fell asleep after.

“You have many thorns, Dean.”

Dean stiffens. Cas continues, his rough voice lilting through the silence.

“You are spiny, and you prick all that dare come near you.”

He sighs.

“But you are beautiful.”

Dean opens his mouth to say something, then changes his mind. He clasps his hands, and remains silent.

“But then…”

Cas tilts his head, in some imitation of his former self.

“If you strip a rose of its thorns, does it lose its beauty?”

Dean swallows. Those clouded blue eyes are still downcast.

  
“Do you know how old the rose is?”

Cas takes a deep breath, then exhales, letting it flow away in a icy silver stream.

“60 million years,” he says. “I remember the angel who created them. She was as lovely as the flowers themselves.”

His face falls.

“She’s dead now,” he whispers.

  
Dean doesn’t move. Eventually Cas’s eyes brighten again, and he starts humming, ripping away the petals, faster now.

“Ring around the rosie,” he sings. “Pockets full of posy…”

Dean blinks, fighting against the lump in his throat.

“Ashes, ashes…”

Cas pulls the last petal away, letting it sit in his palm.

“We all…fall…”

He drops it.

“Down.”

  
Cas straightens suddenly, those lamp-like eyes on his. He holds out the bare stem.

“For you, Dean,” he says, with a hazy smile.

Dean takes it without a word.

Cas starts humming again, standing clumsily. The jacket falls from his shoulders, and he wanders away, barefoot over the frozen grass.

Dean sighs, and picks it up. He follows Cas cautiously, at a distance.

It’s almost dark. He really should get inside. He’d freeze to death if Dean didn’t get him back to camp.

“Cas,” he murmurs, gently taking his wrist. Cas stills. Dean moves slowly, gently pulling him in.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pulling Cas’s trembling body into his own. “I’m sorry.”

Cas doesn’t say a word. Dean tucks his head into the crook of his neck, closing his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles. “I’ll catch you.”

“ _No_ ,” Cas snaps. He whirls suddenly, wrenching himself out of Dean’s arms.

“Don’t you—don’t—“

He tries to hit him, but Dean catches his wrist, and he stumbles. Cas sinks to his knees, and Dean tries to catch him. They fall, Cas weakly shoving him away.

“No,” he mumbles. “Stop—please, I—“

Dean shushes him, cradling his head.

“It’s okay, Cas, it’s me, I’m here—“

Castiel grabs at his shirt, burying his face into his chest. Dean holds him as he cries, brushing the dark hair back from his face.

“It’s okay, Cas,” he whispers. “S’okay. I’m here.”

  
He wraps the heavy coat around him again, and Cas lets Dean take him back to their cabin.

Dean tucks him into bed and curls up beside him, pulling him in close. He holds Cas until he stops shaking.

Finally, his breath loosens into the evenness of sleep, and Dean closes his eyes.

“Stay,” he murmurs. “Stay this time.”

  
The stem lays at the foot of their bed. When Dean wakes, it is gone. And so is Cas.

 


	8. Stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stress
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/91963490560/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)

“Come lay down.”

“Cas…”

“Dean, I’m doing this so your heart doesn’t explode. Lay. Down.”

Dean sighs in exasperation, but comes over to the couch, flopping down in an entirely more dramatic fashion than is necessary.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters.

“No, all those cases you’re stressing over are going to be the death of you. Turn over.”

 

Dean grumbles but obliges, mumbling something about  _I don’t have time for this_  and  _witchy words_  and—

Castiel digs his hands into his back and Dean cuts off with an almost surprised gasp.

“You carry all your stress in your shoulders,” Castiel says, kneading at a knot there. Dean groans in response and sinks his head into the pillows.

“Christ, Cas, don’t stop.”

“What’s that?” Castiel teases, moving down his back. “You want me to stop?”

“You know exactly what I said, you dick.”

Castiel laughs, rubbing his thumbs in circles over the tension in his spine.

“Just relax, Dean.”

He leans down and places a kiss to his shoulder. “Forget about your big high flying career and just feel my hands.”

“Like your hands,” Dean slurs, closing his eyes. “Talented.”

Castiel grins.

“That so?”

He slips his hands down to Dean’s waist, dipping underneath his shirt to touch skin.

“I know another way I can help you relax,” he murmurs into his ear.

“Mmmm.”

Castiel takes his time. He runs his hands back up to his shoulders, squeezing them gently.

“What do you say?”

He’s answered with a loud snore. Castiel muffles his laugh with his hand, shaking his head.

"How romantic."

He drags the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over him. Dean’ll probably kill him when he wakes up, but he needs the sleep.

Castiel gently runs a hand through his hair.

“Sleep well, my love.”

 


	9. Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lips
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/92063423477/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)
> 
> Drama AU

“The lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue…”

Cas mindlessly plays warm ups as Dean tries to fake his way through what he thinks can pass for singing.

His voice cracks, and he flushes.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, hastily hiding it with a cough. He gulps down some water as Cas frowns at the keys.

“No, Dean that was good. High C.”

Dean coughs again.

“Still don’t understand how I ended up doing this stupid play,” he grumbles. But of course that’s a lie.

 

His dumb little brother, of course. This was all Sam’s fault.  _Come try out, Dean_ , and  _it’ll be fun_ —and now he had the fucking lead when he had never acted a day in his life. Cas, with his never-ending patience, had agreed to help him run lines, but in Dean’s opinion, this is a hopeless case.

“Dean, I think you’re selling yourself short.”

“Cas, you haven’t heard me sing yet. People are going to be running out of the theatre in droves. Or the lights will all shatter. I don’t know.”

Dean flops down in his chair, staring moodily at the script in his hands.

“But I’m sure you’ll love it. You and Sammy having a grand ol’ time, laughing at me from the pit.”

Cas flips through his own score.

“I would never laugh at you, Dean,” he says, settling on the right page.

“Much,” he adds, that wry smile playing around his lips.

They go through the lines, but it’s a disaster. As usual.

“You’re too tense,” Cas says. “It should be easy—effortless.”

“Easy for you to say,” Dean grumbles. “Lilith scares the shit out of me. You saw last rehearsal.”

Cas grimaces. “Well, yeah—“

“She’s going to eat me alive, dude.”

Dean rubs his forehead.

“Still don’t know why she got the part of a Latina.”

“Our school is lacking on the Hispanic population,” Cas says idly, flipping back to the start of the scene. “C’mon. Let’s go again.”

Dean sighs.

“Fine. But can we go into the duet?”

Cas frowns.

“I don’t sing.”

“Bullshit. You were in choir for two years.”

“Only because the teacher was shit at piano. Dean, I don’t—“

“Cas, sing the damn song with me.”

Cas gives him that glare—no— _Castiel_  gives him that glare, those eyes sparking with a dangerous glint that makes Dean’s heart skip a beat. He’s suddenly really regretting this decision.

Because Cas was his friend. Right. He didn’t need to drag him into his shit, his ridiculously fucking low self-esteem and the crap that came with it. It was fine. He would just suck. There always would be shitty productions of musicals. Such is life.

“Fine.”

Dean snaps his head up. Cas narrows his eyes.

“But no promises. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I won’t,” Dean says.

“Much.”

They both stand, and Dean is fidgeting. This feels weird. Fuck. Why did he agree to do this? Run lines with his best friend who he has a crush on for a fucking romantic scene, what the hell, was he seriously dropped on the head as a child or Jesus Christ—

“Dean.”

Dean swallows.

“Wh-what?”

Cas raises an eyebrow.  “You start.”

Dean looks down at the tiny printed words.

“Maria…Maria…”

“Shh!”

“Maria!”

“Quiet.”

For all his complaints before, Cas is so into it that Dean almost wants to laugh.

“Come down.”

Cas shakes his head.

“No.”

“Maria—“

“Please. If Bernardo knew…”

Didn’t they start the scene on opposite sides of the room? Why was he here, right in his space? And why did this feel—

“Just for a minute.”

He smiles shyly.

“A minute is not enough.”

Dean feels his heart leap.

“For an hour then,” he teases, inching towards him.

“I cannot.”

“Then forever!”

“Shh!”

“I’m coming up—“

Words flow back an easy between them, Dean almost forgets he’s reading a script. He just sees Cas, Cas hushing him on their balcony as he—

“I’m not one of them,” Dean assures him, but Cas shakes his head.

“But you are not one of us. And I am not one of you.”

“To me, you are all the beaut—“

Then Cas’s hand is on his mouth, and they’re so close.

Dean stares at him. They’re frozen.

There’s supposed to be an interruption, another line offstage, but no one’s there to say it.

Cas’s hand is still on his face.

“Um,” he blurts.

He’s suddenly darting away, calling to an imaginary voice.

“Sí, ya vengo, Papa!”

“Maruca?” Dean asks quietly. His knees feel weak.

 “His pet name for me,” Cas says, so bashful and shy, that for a seoncd, Dean forgets it’s fake.

“I like it,” Dean says, taking his hand. “And he will like me.”

Cas turns those blue eyes on him.

“No. He is like Bernardo. Afraid.”

 He smiles, a sudden laugh escaping him.

“Imagine being afraid of you!”

Dean tugs him in.

“You see?”

Cas softens. That hand finds his cheek. When he speaks, it’s raw.

“I see you,” he murmurs.

“Cas,” Dean whispers. “See only me.”

 


	10. Failed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Failed
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/92159450095/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)
> 
> Canon - Season 8

You don’t say his name. You don’t even want to think about it. You don’t want to remember.

You drink. You don’t sleep. And when you do, you have nightmares.

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. Why didn’t you pull him through? Why didn’t he try harder? After losing him—once, twice—only to see him return as a shadow of his former self—it broke your heart into a jagged little pieces again. Pieces you couldn’t pick up after he left you. In a land of monsters, where there was nothing but blood, sweat, and mud. Where you, the faithless, the righteous man, sacrificed safety to pray every night.

But all the  _I need you_ ’s and  _come on, stay with me_ ’s don’t do shit. You failed. You lost him.

You hug your brother. You clap him on the back and tell him you’re just glad to be out of that place. You don’t tell him that the very thought of him, of losing him ( _your fault your fault_ ) eats away at your soul, a black clogging darkness around your heart, like the Leviathan that haunted you during that sleepless year in Purgatory.

You think you start to see him. Once on the road, then standing at your window. And for the first time in a long time, you feel the tendrils of hope take root in your chest.

You quash them immediately. To hope is to hurt.

You listen idly as your brother tells you about the latest case of weird. You wash your face of the sweat that’s dried there. Sweat from another night of tossing and turning.

And when you stand, you see his face in your mirror. You whip around, to see him real—real and standing in front of you—and you can hardly dare to believe it.

And just like the first time you saw him, he takes your breath away.

Then you hear him speak.

“Hello, Dean.”

 


	11. Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This in entirely because I’m freaking out over the musical episode. (Lovingly ripped off from Once More with Feeling, because Buffy and SPN desperately need a crossover)
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/92253054945/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)

  
“So last night, did uh…”

  
Sam barely spares him a look, continuing to plow through his cereal. Dean taps his fingers on the table.

“Well, uh, you know. Did anyone…”

Dean swallows.

“Burst into song?”

 

Sam stops mid-chew. Charlie’s eyebrows shoot up into her hair.

“Merlin’s beard,” she breathes. Kevin is speechless, gaping at him.

“Dude—“

He stands, barely containing his excitement.

“We thought it was just us!”

And everyone starts talking at once. Even Cas, nodding methodically as he recounts his own tale.

“It was so weird. Like we were talking, and then—“

“It was like we were in a musical!”

“Yeah, and then there was a beat, and everything rhymed—“

“—And that would totally explain the dancing—“

“—I had a whole verse in freakin’ Enochian about this damn tablet—“

“—I assume there was an invisible orchestra—“

“What did you sing about, Dean?”

  
They all stop talking and look at him. Dean flushes.

He may or may not have sung some ridiculous girly pine-y song about a certain ex-angel. But no one needed to know that.

“Don’t remember,” he eventually says, tripping a little over his answer.

Sam stands up.

  
“This is more serious than I thought. We should try to figure out the cause of this. Hit the books, maybe.”

Charlie snorts. “Do we  _have_  any books on this?”

“We just gotta look at the facts,” Kevin says, his face set in determination.

“Get down to the bottom of this.”

And suddenly they’re all talking in turn, rhyming and dancing around the kitchen, with moves so flashy they have to be choreographed. Everyone puts forth their own theory (Spell! Witches! Dancing Demon! Angels wreaking havoc!), but nothing seems plausible.

If it didn’t all seem so normal, Dean would have laughed.

The song finally comes to a dramatic end, in perfect four-part harmony. They all stand there for a moment, not really sure what to do.

Eventually Kevin breaks the silence.

“Well.”

He shrugs.

“That was different.”

  
Cas hastily lowers his arms.

“This situation is quite perplexing.”

“I’ll say,” Dean mutters, plopping down into a chair. Because, no, he wasn’t dancing just a second ago, thank you very much.

“It seems like something Gabriel might do,” Cas says, frowning slightly.

“But he’s dead,” Sam says. “Isn’t he?”

“I’m not so sure,” Cas muses, after a brief silence.

  
They continue to try and puzzle out possible causes (not in lyric form this time, thankfully). They manage to avoid any more outbursts, but when Kevin and Charlie start squabbling over the coffee pot, they hastily vacate the kitchen, lest it turn into a full-fledged duet.

Sam peels off to the library, and Cas heads off to his room, to dig through some dusty old books for a possible answer to this fan-friggin’-tastic crapfest. Dean watches him walk down the hall, and for some reason, follows him.

“Hey.”

Cas glances over at him, lips quirking up in that familiar half-smile.

“Hello.”

“So, um. This uh… _musical_  thing.”

Castiel stops, those bright blue eyes piercing through him. Dean scrambles for words.

He’s not really sure what to say. Because he and Cas were alone. Together. In a hallway that’s not all that big to begin with—with crazy shit happening that they can’t explain and the very real possibility of him saying— _singing_  something that just might make him die of mortification and oh god oh god what are you doing, Dean, seriously—

“NEED HELP WITH THAT BOOK,” he blurts, embarrassingly loud. Cas raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sure I can manage.”

“Oh,” Dean stammers. “Right.”

Castiel squints at him for a minute, then walks off down to his room. Dean can hear him shuffling through the endless piles of books on his desk.

It would be a good time to run away, Dean. Like now.

But for some reason he’s rooted to the spot. He cannot physically pick up his feet.

He’s stuck there until Cas comes back, object of search in hand.

“Found it,” he says, smiling faintly.

And then there’s that music.

Dean pales.

Oh no. No no no no. Not  _now._

He can’t sing. He can’t.

  
So he does the only thing he can think of to make sure he  _definitely_  can’t sing.

He kisses him. Cas is so surprised he drops the book.

  
Elsewhere, on various dimensions, Gabriel smiles. (As much as a wave of celestial intent  _can_  smile.)

  
“Finally.”

 


	12. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon - Cas gets an antipossession tattoo
> 
>  
> 
> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/92345302616/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-prompt)

 

 

 

  
Cas practically jumps ten feet in the air when the girl touches him.

  
“Dude, that’s just the antiseptic.”

Cas purses his lips, staring straight ahead. Dean smiles apologetically at the girl, who’s eyeing Cas warily. But she goes back to prepping him, and Dean struggles not to roll his eyes.

When she turns her back to grab supplies, Cas grabs Dean’s wrist, whispering fervently under his breath.

“Dean, I have rarely experienced pain.”

His eyes are wild.

“And the few times I have it was dulled sufficiently by my grace. I—“

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

Cas glares at him, and Dean sighs, pulling up a chair.

“You’re tougher than you think, dude.”

"But I’m  _human_ ,” Cas hisses. “It’s all so new and raw and I don’t know—”

"Cas."

 

Dean looks him square in the eye.

"Look. I got it too. And yeah, it sucks, with the itching and peeling and crap afterwards, but we gotta do it. We’re not gonna let some demon jump your bones and take you for a joyride.”

Cas swallows heavily. Dean wants to smack himself. Bad pep talk.

“It’ll be fine, okay?” Dean says, softer. He hesitates, then places a hand on his shoulder.

“Promise.”

  
Cas tightens up as the lady starts. He’s doing that thing again, where he looks like he’s trying to burn a hole through the wall with just his eyes. She’s being as gentle as she can, but Dean winces every time she brings the needle down again.

Dean glances at Cas. He’s white knuckling the arms of the chair. He’ll probably break it if he’s not careful.

So Dean reaches out and squeezes his hand. Cas visibly deflates, and when he turns his hand over to lace their fingers together, Dean doesn’t comment. 

It’s actually kind of nice.

Cas immediately calms after that. And Dean finds himself scooting closer every time Cas flinches.

It seems like forever before the woman sits back, pulling off her gloves.

“Okay. You’re done.”

Dean pulls out his wallet and goes up to the counter while the artist fusses over Cas, fixing him with a bandage and telling him how to take care of it.

“How long have you been together?”

Dean blinks.

“What?”

The girl at the register is pointedly raising her eyebrows at something behind him, and Dean turns around, to see Cas grumpily pulling on his shirt, muttering curses in Enochian under his breath.

Dean sputters.

“We’re not—um. It’s, uh—“

The girls turns bright red.

“Oh, god,  _sorry—_ It’s just you came together and you’re paying for him and you two seem—“

She cuts off, wincing at Dean’s dumbstruck expression.

“Sorry,” she says again, hastily getting him his receipt.

Dean takes it, fumbling for words.

“Um—no. It’s okay. We’re just…”

Dean stops. All the typical excuses seem stupid, suddenly. All the things he’s told people before.

_He’s family. Brother. Brother-in law. Weird cousin on my mom’s side. He’s my…_

  
_What_?

  
“I haven’t told him yet,” Dean blurts.

  
Holy shit. Did he really just say that?

  
Her face melts into a sympathetic smile.

“Oh, honey.”

She pats his hand. “You got nothing to fear.”

She pulls back a little, checking Cas out where he’s poking at the bandage on his chest, still frowning.

“And you need to get on that, like  _yesterday_ ,” she says, giving him a wink.

  
Dean doesn’t say anything until they’re back in the Impala. Cas is fidgeting.

Dean glances over.

“You okay?”

“I am slightly uncomfortable,” Cas says, brow pinched. Dean can’t help it. He laughs, turning the key in the igntion, hearing Baby growl to life.

“Whaddya say we get some beer and takeout, and bring it to Mr. Influenza back at the bunker?” He nudges him. “Movie night?”

“I would like that, Dean,” Castiel says, giving him a slight smile.

“Okay,” Dean says, returning it.

And he tells himself to say something else. Something like _and then after we watch the movie you can sleep in my bed. If you want._ Or _hey you’re really hot and sweet and funny and I can’t stop thinking about you and me_ or  _Cas, I fucking love you._

Instead Dean swallows those confessions, and he fixes his eyes on the road ahead. But before he can change his mind, he reaches out and takes Cas’s hand.

He holds his breath in the silence that follows.

Then Cas squeezes his hand.

“I would like that very much,” he murmurs.

  
Dean smiles. 

 


	13. Irritable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/92450092688/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-irritable)
> 
>  
> 
> Airport AU (I guess)  
> Journalist!Dean, Physicist!Cas

It is not Castiel’s day. His car was late, his flight was delayed—meaning he had barely made his connection, and then waited at baggage claim a good ten minutes after all the other bags had come through—and he finally admitted defeat, trudging off to claim services.

And now he was waiting to take a very expensive cab ride to a very expensive hotel, and would most likely have to wear this very cheap suit for the lecture tomorrow, instead of the very expensive one currently locked in his luggage 500 miles away.

So this irritable mood of his is not at all improved by a loud voice, ringing out obnoxiously behind him.

“Hey! Um, excuse me?”

Castiel turns around, bluntly staring at the stranger. He comes to a halt, wheezing.

“Are you…are you going downtown? By the Palace Hotel, maybe?”

Castiel blinks.

“I am actually.” He squints at the man, in a disheveled suit of his own, a backpack and camera bag hanging from his shoulder. “That’s where I’m staying.”

“Oh, me too!” The man says enthusiastically. “Wanna share a cab?”

Castiel frowns. Then he remembers the price of the fare, and his inner cheapskate wins out.

“Fine.”

 

They both slide into the cab and start off away from the airport, and Castiel sets his jaw.

This is doing nothing to improve his mood. The guy looks like a talker. And Castiel’s not a talker. He likes headphones and people leaving him alone.

He pulls out his notebook, intending to go over his notes again, but also hoping to send the message that this is not an opportunity for a social visit.

“You going to the symposium?”

Castiel punctures the page with his pen.

“I wouldn’t have asked, but I dunno. You kinda got the look.”

_This just kept getting better and better._

Castiel glances over at him.

“Do you have ‘the look’?” He asks dryly, turning back to his notebook.  
The other man laughs, apparently not deterred at all by Castiel’s icy tone.

“Oh, dude. Not at all. I’m a journalist. My brother’s the genius.”

“Journalism can be just as difficult,” Castiel says idly.

When there’s no response, Castiel sneaks a look again.

He seems speechless. Hmm. Score.

“Yeah. Well. Um.”

He runs a hand through his messy hair.

“You excited? I hear this guy that’s gonna speak, Dr. Novak—he’s practically a genius.”

Castiel stops writing.

“And his work on cosmic background radiation practically blew the field wide open,” the man says excitedly. “My brother never shuts up about him,” he explains, misinterpreting Castiel’s expression. “Total nerd boner for astrophysicists. Supposed to be pretty easy on the eyes too.”

Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair.

“Is that so?” He asks, trying not to smile. The man doesn’t seem to notice.

“Convenient, right? And I’m covering the thing, so—if the dude’s boring—at least I’ll have something to look at, right?”

Castiel tries not to rankle at that. He knows he isn’t the most interesting lecturer. But he knows his stuff. People respect him for that.

The man is still babbling on.

“But I doubt it. I’m actually kinda excited. Y’know, I read his last book, and it didn’t have a picture with the bio, so I was kinda disappointed.”

Castiel stares at him.

“You read  _Physical Cosmology and the Big Bang_?”

Jesus. Everyone told him it wouldn’t sell.

The man scratches the back of his neck, suddenly nervous.

“Uhh, yeah. You know. Had some extra time.”

Castiel tries to keep his voice even.

“That is very advanced.”

The man shrugs. Castiel smiles, impressed.

"And you read it for fun."

He returns the grin, those green eyes crinkling.

“Um…yeah. Taking pictures doesn’t fill all my time.”

Castiel bites his lip, tucking away his notebook.

“Well.”

He turns to him.

“Tell your brother genius runs in the family.”

  
They finally arrive at the hotel, after a taxi ride full of surprisingly interesting conversation, and after both checking in, they head to the elevator.

“Well, I’m on the first floor,” the man says.

“Oh.” Castiel nods.

“Well, I’m taking the elevator,” he says unnecessarily, seeing as they both had just watched him press the button to go up.

They stand there awkwardly, and when the doors open, the man seems to decide something, sticking out his hand.

“I’m, Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester.”

Castiel shakes his hand, then steps into the elevator.

“Castiel Novak,” he says, as the doors start to close.

“Nice to meet you,” Dean says, smiling.

Then the doors start to close, and his face dawns with sudden realization.

“Wait—“

The doors close.

“WHAT?”

 


	14. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/92548095579/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-snow)
> 
> Reverse!Verse

Castiel checks his watch.

“Damn angel,” he mutters. “Can’t he be on time for once?”

And as if Heaven itself answered his prayers, there’s a sudden gust of wind, and an outburst of swearing.

“Jesus— _cold_ —“

Another whirl, and Castiel turns to see Dean, nursing at his fingers. He snorts.

“Blasphemous, now, are we?”

Dean pouts at his hand for a minute, before waving it dismissively.

“Eh. He’s cool with it. I asked.”

 

He sits down next to Castiel, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Ugh. I seriously don’t know how you stand this,” he says, staring grumpily at the snow. Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t aware you could even be cold.”

“Yeah, well guess again, genius.”

“Well, if you’re really so miserable, make it sunny or something.”

Dean gives him a look.

“The god squad doesn’t do weather, dude. We leave that stuff to the pagans.”

Castiel turns up his collar against the wind.

“Sometimes I wonder why I even keep you around,” he teases.

He immediately regrets it when Dean smiles, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Oh. Is that right?”

  
Before Castiel can even try and escape, Dean throws him over his shoulder, dangling him almost upside down. Castiel yelps, kicking his feet.

“Dean—“

“What?” Dean says loudly. “Can’t hear you!”

“I swear to God—“

Dean shakes him.

“Hey. None of that now.”

Castiel pounds his fists against his back.

“Dammit, Dean, put me down right now—“

Dean shrugs.

“Well. If you insist.”

  
Castiel doesn’t have time to process that before Dean dumps him face down in a snowdrift. He pops up, spluttering.

“Motherfu—“

Dean sticks out his tongue.

“Don’t piss off angels.”

Castiel pushes himself up into sitting position. He scowls at him.

“How do you say ‘fuck you’ in Enochian?”

Dean gasps in mock horror.

“Thou shalt not use the Lord’s language in vain!” He cries, scandalized. Then he sobers, pressing a hand to his chest.

“But do not rejoice when your enemy falls,” he intones gravely. “And let not your heart be glad when he stumbles.”

He smiles, a smug expression of self-righteousness on his face.

“Therefore, I shall extend the olive branch, and help you up.”

He extends his hand, grinning.

_WHAP._

  
Dean pinwheels spectacularly and falls on his ass. He blinks snow out of his eyes.

“Did you—“

He cuts off, staring at Castiel open mouthed.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

Dean’s so busy picking the snow out of his hair that he doesn’t see the next one coming either.

“CAS.”

Dean scrambles up, but Castiel chucks another snowball at his head.

“Never had a snowball fight before, have ya?”

“You little—“

Dean dives at him and Castiel dodges out of the way at the last second. He whirls, ready to defend himself, but Dean is gone.

Castiel stands warily, snowball clutched tight in his hands.

“Dean?”

He turns slowly on the spot, glancing all around him. But there’s nothing. Just the never-ending flakes falling from the sky, and Castiel, every nerve on edge.

“Hey Cupid! Where’d you go?”

Nothing.

  
Then he appears out of nowhere, yanking Castiel’s collar back and dumping a whole heap of powder down his shirt.

“HOLY SH—“

Castiel yanks at his shirt, spasming as he tries to get away from the stinging cold on his skin.

“Oh, you are so dead—“

Dean tackles him, and they land in the snow again. Castiel halfheartedly struggles against him, but finally gives up.

“Okay, you win. Let me up.”

Dean grins, pursing his lips.

“Hmmm. Thinkin’ about it.”

Castiel scowls.

“Dean, I am now soaking wet thanks to you, and if I die of hypothermia, I fully intend to haunt your ass.”

Dean laughs, tugging him up.

“C’mere.”

He slips his hands underneath his shirt, and in a second, Castiel’s clothes are warm and dry.

Dean brushes some of the snow from Castiel’s hair.

“You’re welcome,” he says wryly, smirking down at him.

“Your fault in the first place,” Castiel retorts.

Dean grins, pulling him in.

Castiel starts fidgeting and laughing when Dean starts getting a little handsy, exposing his skin to the cold air.

“Can we at least move this inside?” He asks breathlessly.

“Oh, baby, I’d move mountains for you.”

Castiel snorts.

“That was so corny I almost don’t want to forgive you.”

“Shut up. You love it.”

Dean tugs him under his arm, lips at his ear.

“And…you love me?”

Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

 


	15. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/92648014143/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-anger)
> 
> Demon!Dean

Castiel watches as the last demon smokes out, and he stands underneath the cold spray, panting. He’s slowly soaked by the stream of water from overhead, but he doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from the entrance.

He tenses when Dean steps forward into the light, eyeing the dripping roof above him.

“Holy water,” he remarks casually. “Inspired.”

Castiel breathes heavily, staring him down.

“A better hunter than me has done it before.”

Dean’s eyes narrow.

He waves a hand and the water stops.

He leisurely strolls over to where Castiel’s blade is lying, knocked out of his hands by his demon attackers. 

“Is this really fair, Castiel?”

He kneels down, carefully picking up the blade.

“I can kill you, but you cannot.”

He turns it over in his fingers, smiling as it catches the light.

“Though…I don’t think you would.”

 

  
He disappears and is in front of Castiel in a heartbeat, yanking his hand towards him and clasping the blade into his palm. Castiel freezes.

Dean spreads his arms, staring him down with hot challenging eyes. Castiel doesn’t move.

“C’mon,” he whispers. He reaches out again, guiding Castiel’s hand until the tip of his blade is on Dean’s chest. “Try.”

Castiel remains motionless.

Dean smiles slowly, eyes glinting in the light.

“Didn’t think so.”

  
He turns his back, his own silver blade sliding into his hand.

“They always said you were a fighter, Castiel.”

Dean turns, fixing those harsh cold eyes on his.

“So. Let’s see what you got.”

  
The first couple of blows take Castiel by surprise, and he stumbles, barely able to keep up. Dean’s blade flashes like lightning. Strike after strike—and Castiel can do nothing but block.

Dean knocks him back and Castiel stumbles, hitting the ground, hard.

“Poor little windup angel,” he taunts, his laughter ringing around the dingy metal walls.

“Batteries all drained, and Daddy isn’t around to fix you.”

Castiel pulses with anger. He squeezes his eyes shut.

_It’s not Dean. It’s not him._

He stands up, struggling with the effort to keep his spine straight.

  
Dodge left, parry right—he swipes out and Dean blocks it effortlessly, seizing the back of his neck.

“Oh. This is just too easy.”

Castiel shoves against him, but Dean yanks his head back, lowering those lips to his ear.

“Always wondered if I could take you in a fight,” he whispers. He grips his jaw, meeting Castiel’s furious eyes. He pauses, cocking his head.

“But you’re dying. Aren’t you?” 

Castiel doesn’t answer. Dean’s eyes cloud with something inexplicable, before it’s lost again in a sea of black.

“No fun,” he pouts.

Castiel twists out of his grip and lunges again. He’s so close, and this is his chance—he could wound him and make his escape—but he hesitates, pulling up at the last second. He hastily backs away, and Dean tilts his head, circling around him again.

“Castiel. I do believe you’re holding out on me.”

Castiel sucks down the frigid air, his lungs heaving with the effort to breath. 

“I do not wish to harm you, Dean,” he gasps out.

Dean laughs.

“Oh, like you could?”

Castiel never sees it coming. Dean slashes him, right across the gut, and Castiel staggers back. The blood starts running through his hands, and he panics.

He concentrates, and he heals—just enough to stop the bleeding. But even that small effort takes its toll, and he falls to his knees, panting.

Castiel can still feel it there—aching under his skin, a constant reminder of his approaching death.

A death that seems very near—when Dean advances and hits him again.

He strikes him across the face, and Castiel falls, his blade clattering to the floor.

“When this thing moves…”

Dean grabs his hair and punches him, how many times, Castiel can’t tell.

“The sky bleeds, the ground quakes.”

He sends him flying, and Castiel hits the ground, hard. Dean is laughing.

“Oh, oh, oh.”

Castiel spits blood—it stains the puddle beneath him. He can taste holy water on his tongue.

“You just don’t know how  _good_  it is, angel.”

He can sense Dean kneeling beside him, reaching a hand out and raking a hand through his hair.

“The anger, the power…it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

His fingers stroke almost lazily down his chin, and Castiel holds his breath.

“Perfect,” he murmurs.

Dean yanks his head back, and Castiel spits.

He gets him right in his face, and Dean screams—the holy water burning his skin, and he falls back, gasping. Castiel seizes the moment and tackles him, wrapping his hands around his throat.

Dean hisses, his black eyes filled with rage.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he spits.

He rips a hand free and grabs his collar, yanking Castiel down until their faces are barely inches apart.

"You wanna know something?"

He digs his hand into his side, into his newly-healed wound, and Castiel gasps, hunching over in pain.

“I really hate that new trenchcoat,” he seethes.

 

  
Castiel recovers and wrenches him up into his arms, and Dean struggles—but he can’t let him go. Just a few more feet—

“You can’t kill me,” Dean hisses. “You  _can’t_ —“

He scrambles, tugging at Castiel’s hold, choking for breath. He thrashes against him, bucking and squirming in his arms. Castiel tightens the grip, using the last of his strength, his vision spotting black from the effort.

Dean kicks, once, twice—his eyes bugging out, fingers scraping against Castiel’s arm, drawing blood.

  
Castiel shoves him and rolls away, hastily darting out of reach. Dean snarls and runs after him—

Only to be stopped as he hits the edge of the devil’s trap. He freezes, face dawning with sudden realization.

He looks around him, completely silent. Then he laughs.

He laughs and laughs, a hard angry sound that rings all around them.

“Clever, Castiel. Very clever.”

Those eyes slide to green again, but that vicious smile doesn’t change.

“And just what do you intend to do now?”

Castiel wipes blood from his cheek, panting.

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved,” he whispers.

He stares him down.

“But you will be.”

 


	16. Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/92748426003/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-trying)
> 
>  
> 
> Paramedic!Cas

 

 

 

The first time Castiel kissed Dean, it wasn’t exactly romantic.

“Meg! Over here!”

Castiel coughs, stumbling through the rubble. The fire was out now, but smoke still hangs heavy in the air. Castiel pulls the man out from under a collapsed pile of concrete, and curses. He’s not breathing.

“Meg!” He yells again.

He lays the man out flat and starts mouth to mouth. Tip the head back, clear the passageway, chest compressions—

Meg has found him, but she can’t get past the collapsed doorway. She’s got the oxygen.

“Castiel, what—“

“He’s not breathing, I need the mask!”

“I can’t get past this, you gotta hold him until I can get through—“

Castiel’s heart is pounding, but his head feels oddly clear and calm.

Barely three weeks on the job and a major earthquake hits—first one in nearly 40 years, and this—

“Stabilize him, Castiel!”

“I’m trying!” Castiel yells.

Puff of air, then one, two, three—

The man beneath him arches and coughs, choking down air.

“Oh, god, he’s breathing—“

Castiel scrambles to support his head.

“I need a stretcher here!”

 

  
*

  
“Um, hey.”

The two men look up. Castiel shifts uncomfortably.

“I’m, uh, I’m Castiel. I’m the paramedic who found you.”

The man’s face flashes with recognition, then triumph.

“See, Sammy?” He says, turning to the taller man. “Told you he was real.”

Sam rolls his eyes. He sees Castiel’s confused expression, and he snorts.

“He said an angel rescued him,” he explains, crossing his arms.

Castiel turns bright red. The man’s cheeks are flaming too.

"Sam. Shut up."

Sam just smirks, and the man in the bed scratches his head.

“Well, um.” He gestures. “Guess I should thank you.”

Castiel hastily waves a hand.

“No, no need. I…just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

The man smiles and sits up a little straighter, as much as he can with all the IVs and monitors.

“Peachy keen, dude. This kinda sucks though,” he says, pointing to the cast on his leg. Then he sticks out a hand.

“I’m Dean.”

  
Castiel talks with them for a while, but eventually decides to go, leaving the brothers to their time alone. He says his goodbye and turns to leave, but the taller one catches him at the doorway. Before Castiel can speak, he’s drowning him in a hug.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “Thank you.”

  
*

  
Castiel doesn’t really know why he does it. 

He pokes his head inside the door. Dean’s sitting there, absently flipping through the channels on the TV. He looks bored.

“Hello, Dean.”

He looks up, and his face immediately brightens.

“Hey.”

He turns the TV off.

“What’re you doing here?”

Castiel shrugs, walking up to the bed.

“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d check in.”

Dean smiles.

“Yeah? You don’t gotta run off and be a hero? Save some more lives?”

Castiel blushes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No it’s, uh. It’s my day off.”

Dean nods, and there’s an awkward pause. Dean chews his lip, looking like he’s debating something.

“Hey. Um.”

He gestures to the chair. “Y’wanna stay? I get pretty bored around here. Can’t expect Sammy to be here 24/7,” he says wistfully. “And I’m not going anywhere with this thing.” He knocks the cast on his leg.

Something warm and happy bubbles up in Castiel’s chest.

“Of course.”

  
He pulls up a chair and digs a battered pack of cards out of his bag, silently thanking Gabe for forgetting them at his apartment.

“What’s your poison?” He asks. Dean smiles, those green eyes crinkling. Castiel’s stomach flips.

“Texas hold ‘em?”

Castiel shuffles the cards, and he starts to deal. Dean elbows him.

“Just a warning. My poker face is pretty damn awesome.”

  
They play, talking about everything and nothing. Castiel tells him about working in a hospital, the good and the bad, and Dean talks about his brother, his car, his favorite movies.

He’s funny. He’s got an unapologetic, brash sense of humor, and he puts up with Castiel whenever he doesn’t understand yet another reference. Castiel doesn’t remember the last time he’s had this much fun. His work at the hospital is gratifying, but it can also be consuming. And yet here he was, even on his day off.

Castiel doesn’t realize it’s been almost two hours until he looks at the clock on the wall.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Dean slumps a little.

“Oh. Okay.”

Castiel stammers.

“But I’ll come back, tomorrow. I mean, of course—if you want me too.”

Dean smiles.

“Yeah, dude. Stop by anytime.”

Castiel slings his bag over his shoulder and heads towards the door. Dean calls him back.

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel turns. Dean fiddles with the blanket on his bed.

“Thanks. For uh. For everything.”

Castiel smiles shyly.

“You’re welcome.”

They’re both silent for a minute. Castiel swallows.

"You get better."

“I’m trying,” Dean says wryly.

  
*

  
Dean’s getting discharged today.

And Castiel is a complete coward. He’s been pacing back and forth in the hall outside of Dean’s room for a good ten minutes.

_Go in. Come on. You’re friends at this point. You’ve hung out like six times, granted all in a hospital room, but still—_

Castiel stops, breathing out slowly.

“Just do it, “ he mumbles to himself.

  
So before he can change his mind, he knocks and goes in.

Dean smiles widely.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Castiel says shortly. He’s suddenly sweating.

“So. You’re leaving.”

Dean laughs.

“Yup. Can’t wait to get out of here. But don’t really know what I’m gonna do. Can’t really go anywhere. I’m gonna have to watch Sammy drive my Baby around for two freakin’ months,” he says, scowling. Castiel can’t help but laugh, despite the anxiety gnawing at his stomach.

“Um. Well.”

Dean squints at him. Castiel fidgets, stepping closer.

“I just thought—well. You know. We could have…coffee sometime.”

Dean just sort of stares at him, and Castiel panics.

“Or I dunno. Maybe you don’t like coffee. Um—they probably have tea at those places too, because well, I mean, of course they do, what am I talking about—“

“Cas,” Dean says, cutting him off. “Are you…are you asking me out?”

“I’m trying!” Castiel snaps, flustered.

Dean stares at him for moment. Then he laughs. He laughs so hard that his eyes start to water. Castiel stares at him, scowling.

“What?”

Dean wipes his eyes. “Jesus, Cas. About damn time.”

Castiel blinks.

"What?" He says again.

Dean snorts.

“How ‘bout dinner instead?”

  
*

  
Later, they share their first kiss over Chinese takeout and reruns of Star Trek. But for months afterward, Dean will insist that it was  _technically_  their second.

(“Dean, it doesn’t count if you were unconscious and I was trying to save your life.”

“Shut up, Cas.”)

 


	17. Goosebumps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/92840359928/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel)
> 
> NSFW (sort of)

Dean shivers.

His bare skin reacts to the cold air around him, the hairs on his arms raising, even with the steam of the shower slowly warming the room. He flinches a little when he gets under the stream, but sighs as he adjusts to its heat, closing his eyes. Everything in him feels sleepy and loose.

His ears are lost in the roar of the water, so he doesn’t hear the creak of the door.

Then there’s warmth, familiar warmth behind him, the calming press of Castiel’s body against his back.

 

“Starting without me?”

He slips his hands around his waist, kissing his shoulder. Dean leans back, sighing.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” he mumbles back. Cas’s hands move slowly up his arms, gathering up the water there and spreading it over him, smoothing over his tenser muscles, kneading at the knots.

“You cold?” He asks softly, after a minute, or an hour.

Dean shakes his head.

“Not anymore.”

Castiel pulls him around, one hand finding his cheek. The water continues to pound down, soaking Cas’s dark hair until it’s almost black.

“I enjoyed last night. Very much,” Cas murmurs, continuing to move his hands in those long slow strokes over his skin, like he’s worshipping him, memorizing every inch of Dean’s body.

“Me too,” Dean says, his voice dropping low. Cas smiles, those blue eyes seeming even brighter somehow, in the morning light and the mist of the air.

He runs soft fingers down the line of his spine, and Dean arches, trying to get closer.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop reacting that way—to the feeling on Cas’s hands on his skin. He doesn’t ever want to.

He closes his eyes when Cas’s lips find his neck, and he tilts his head back, sinking into it. He might back him up into the wall of the shower, hunching over as Castiel continues down his throat and back up to his jaw, finally finding his lips.

They stay there as long as they can, but Dean starts shivering, and this time it actually is from the cold.

“Okay, freezing now,” he mumbles, finally pulling away from Cas’s mouth long enough to speak. Cas nips at his bottom lip, smiling sleepily.

“Wimp.”

Dean laughs, tugging him back under the stream, tensing a little at the change in temperature. Cas tucks his chin over his shoulder, just holding him. Dean laughs.

“We do have to get out eventually, Cas.”

“No, we don’t,” he mumbles. “Let’s just stay here forever.”

Dean finds his hand, smiling absently.

“Forever.”

He closes his eyes.

“I like the sound of that.”

 


	18. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/92933851778/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-dinner%22)
> 
> Canon

“So do you—“

Dean sighs. He changes his stance.

“Hey. Y’wanna—“

He cuts off again, grumbling at himself.

He crosses his arms, leaning back and cocking an eyebrow.

“Yo. You. Me. Dinner.”

Then he realizes how stupid that sounds and flushes, hastily checking over his shoulder, just in case. But no one’s in the bathroom. Duh.

He turns back to the mirror, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

_Get it together, man,_ he tells himself for the millionth time.  _You are not some pimply sixteen-year-old kid._

He straightens, trying to puff himself out.

_You are Dean Winchester. You have faced down angels and demons, and the damn devil himself. You can ask someone out on a date._

Except it’s not just any date. This is a freakin’ huge date. Like  _the_  date.

With Cas.

Who is kind of a dude. Well…celestial being. Who doesn’t really have gender. But is still kinda human. And kinda stuck in a human body. A very  _male_  human body—

“CAS. WANNA GO TO DINNER,” Dean blurts out to the mirror.

 

He stares at himself for a minute, then sits, burying his face in his hands.

Shit. He is so screwed.

“Mexican or Italian?”

Dean falls off the toilet.

  
He struggles up to see Sam grinning at him from the doorway.

“Wh—I—“

He blinks.

“What?”

Sam smirks.

“Mexican or Italian? I’ll cook, and you can ask Cas out.”

Dean gapes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“I’m talking about the fact that you are so lucky Cas is not here right now, because I could hear you practicing from literally every room in the bunker.”

Sam helps him up, barely able to keep back his grin.

“So I’ll ask again. Mexican. Or. Italian?”

Dean glares at him.

“Italian,” he shoots back. And Sam just fucking smiles at that, dipping out the door. Dean scowls.

No way. He wouldn’t dare.

  
So he’s entirely mortified to come into the kitchen that night, only to see Sam enthusiastically preparing spaghetti.

“Sit down, Dean!” He sings. “Be ready soon!”

Dean swallows. Cas is sitting at the table, which to Dean’s eternal embarrassment, is all dolled up with a tablecloth and placesettings and fucking  _candlesticks._

Dean is going to murder his little brother.

  
He flops down in the chair opposite Cas, avoiding his eyes.

“Um. Hey.”

Castiel smiles softly.

“Hello, Dean.”

He glances towards the kitchen. “Sam is very enthusiastic about cooking tonight.”

“Yeah?” Dean mumbles, fiddling with his fork. “Hadn’t noticed.”

Said person-currently-number-one-on-Dean’s-hit-list swans in, placing the dishes in front of them, and producing, of all things, a bottle of wine.

He ignores Dean’s glare and pours them two glasses, positively beaming.

“Do you want a fucking tip?” Dean snaps. Sam winks at him.

He sets down the bottle.

“Well. Enjoy!”

Cas frowns.

“You’re not eating with us?”

Sam sneaks a look at Dean, who’s currently trying to kill him with just his eyes.

“Nope. Figured you two could…have some alone time.”

“Alone time?” Cas asks, oblivious.

“Y’know. Time alone. Catch up, talk about your  _feelings_ —“

“THANK YOU SAM,” Dean says loudly.

Sam beams.

He moves surprisingly fast for someone so fucking ridiculously huge and gangly, and he’s out of the room before either of them can protest, his maniacal laugh echoing down the hallway.

Dean swallows heavily. Cas still looks a little bewildered, but starts helping himself to food.

  
It just might be the most awkward ten minutes of Dean’s life.

  
They haven’t said a damn word. And that’s mostly Dean’s fault, because Cas is naturally a quiet kind of guy, and Dean can’t think of a single thing to say. It all seems so stupid.

Well, this is a spectacular preview for what their first date would be like.

_No, wait. Is this is their first date? Jesus Christ—_

“Yeah, I can’t do this,” Dean mutters, throwing down his napkin. Castiel frowns.

“Is something the matter?”

Those blue eyes are wide and bright, peering at him intently, and Dean falters.

“Cas, uh—“

He clenches a fist, resolving himself.

“Do you wanna—um. Get dinner sometime?”

Castiel tilts his head.

“We are eating dinner.”

Dean exhales.

“Yeah, dude, I know—I mean…like…we’ll go out. Get burgers or something.” He gestures. “And I’ll, y’know. Drive you. Pay for everything, and all that jazz.”

Castiel sets down his fork.

“Dean, you always drive. And pay. I do not have a car or credit cards.”

Dean groans, covering his face with his hands.

“Dammit, Cas. You’re not making this any easier.”

“Dean.”

Dean can hear the scrape of his chair, and Castiel coming over to his side. “Are you alright?”

“I’m talking about a date, Cas!” Dean blurts. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

Cas stares at him, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“A date?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed.

“A frikkin’ date, yeah.”

Castiel is quiet.

“I did not know you were interested in me that way,” he says eventually, his words careful.

“Fuck, Cas—of course I’m  _interested_ in you that way.”

He looks up to meet his eyes, and something inside him just breaks.

“You’re my best friend,” he blurts. “You’ve saved my life over and over again—you’re smart and fucking badass and you do that really annoying clicking thing with your teeth when you read but it’s still fucking adorable and I might kind of love you and god—Cas, I wanna take you out on a damn date!” 

Cas stares at him. He doesn’t say anything.

Dean’s heart drops.

This was stupid. This was a mistake. Time to leave this table. Like now.

“Forget it,” Dean mutters, shoving back his chair. He tries to bolt for the door, but Castiel grabs his wrist.

“Dean.”

He freezes.

“I didn’t say no.”

Dean stops. He turns, staring at him.

“What?”

“I would love to,” Castiel says simply. Dean blinks a couple times.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Really?”

Cas nods, never-ending patience on his face.

“Really, Dean.”

Dean swallows.

“Um. Okay then.”

Castiel slides his hand down until it finds Dean’s, and he locks their fingers together. Dean swallows.

Cas holds there for a moment, but then pulls him back over to the table.

"Now, eat. It would be a shame to waste the food your brother prepared for us."

"Yeah, um." Dean follows him dizzily. "Right."

He’s not really sure what just happened.

  
Cas starts eating calmly again, but he keeps a hold of his hand.

"You do realize Sam is hovering in the hallway listening to every word we say," he remarks casually.

Dean whips his head around.

"Son of a—"

He grits his teeth.

"I’m going to kill him."

Cas squeezes his hand, and Dean looks back, confused. He smiles.

"Need help with that?"

Dean grins.

 


	19. Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/93026279779/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-crying)
> 
> Domestic!Destiel

Sam is crying again.

“Your turn,” Cas mutters, rolling over and burying his head under the pillows. Dean groans, but gets up, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he plods down the hall.

He flips on the light, yawning. Sam seriously won’t shut up.

“Alright, alright. Calm down.”

He leans down and picks her up, hiking her up in his arms. She’s whining and fussing, snot and tears running down her tiny face.

“Hey, little troublemaker,” he murmurs, grabbing a tissue and cleaning her up. “Chill out. Daddy’s here.”

 

Sam answers him with a loud wail. Dean huffs, hiking her up to his shoulder and patting her on the back. He loves the little poop factory to bits, but right now he’s mentally running through every curse word he knows to decide which one is the most appropriate.

But Cas would probably kick his ass. Even though Dean insists that she obviously doesn’t understand yet, Cas thinks it’ll somehow rub off on her. If her first words are ‘son of a bitch,’ Dean might brave said ass-kicking just to be able to tell that story at family functions.

Samantha hiccups a few times, soaking his shirt with tears. Dean rubs her back, rocking her slightly.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Nightmares keeping you up?”

She was going to be seven months old next week. Dean had sat up all night with her on the night she was six months, Cas wordlessly watching him, their hands locked tight. Neither of them had to explain anything.

She gives another loud sob, and Dean sighs. Way the kid is carrying on, Dean will probably have to change his shirt before long.

“Just like your uncle,” he mutters, gripping her tiny hand. She clings to it, those wide blue eyes still brimming with tears. Dean chuckles.

“Guy was a fountain back in the day. But don’t tell him that. I’m still pretending I don’t like him.”

Sam shakes her tiny head, almost as if she’s agreeing to keep his secret. Dean smiles. He cannot wait until this kid stars talking.

“How ‘bout a song, huh? You feelin’ Zeppelin tonight?”

He gently drifts his fingers through her hair, singing softly so he won’t wake Cas. The guy needs his sleep. She’s calmed, and Dean hums under his breath, swaying a little.

He comes to a stop as soon as Sam is snoring on his shoulder. He smiles, giving her a quick kiss.

He lays her back down in her crib, tucking her in gently. Then he pads off down to the bedroom, slipping in beside Cas. He wraps an arm around his waist, closing his eyes.

“She okay?” Cas asks drowsily. Dean smiles, finding his hand and squeezing it.

“Mhm.”

He chuckles. “She’s as fussy as her old man.”

Castiel rolls over, scowling sleepily at him.

“I’m sure you don’t mean me.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Dean grabs his shirt and kisses him. Cas makes a soft contented noise, curling in closer. Dean pulls back, pressing another kiss to his forehead before settling back and closing his eyes.

“Just go to sleep, baby,” he murmurs.

“You’re the baby,” Cas mumbles.

“No, Sam’s the baby.”

“Shut up.”

 


	20. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/93124911418/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-fear)
> 
> Canon, Hurt!Cas

“Cas?  _Cas!_ ”

Dean bolts through the door, practically wrenching it off its hinges. The room is empty.

He whirls, gripping his blade desperately.

“Castiel!” He shouts.

“Over here!”

Sam’s voice, ringing from down the hall—and Dean bolts—everything whited out by fear and fury.

He doesn’t see the vamp until it’s got its teeth in his arm, and he growls, shoving it off. He pins the thing and makes quick work of it. It dies with a pitiful gurgle, and Dean scrambles towards the sound of shouts and fighting, echoing against the dark dingy walls.

He bursts into the room in time to see Sam decapitating his own vampire—and Cas, hunched over in the corner, one hand clamped on the wound on his throat.

Everything stops.

 

Dean runs over, fumbling weakly at his hands. God. There’s so much blood.

“Dean…” Cas says weakly, his eyes sliding closed.

“No, Cas, hey—”

Dean drops to his side, spilling out words.

“It’s me, Cas, I’m here.”

Cas tries to answer him, but hunches over in a fit of coughing. Dean panics, ripping some cloth from his shirt and shoving it into Cas’s hand.

“Here, put that there, and hold tight, you hear me?” he blurts, pressing down. The other hand finds Cas’s cheek and forces those blue eyes on him.

“Don’t let go,” he says shakily.

Cas nods his head weakly, obeying him as much as he can. His face is deathly pale.

“Sam!” Dean shouts. “Help me!”

  
They carry him out to the car, Sam flooring it away from the scene as Dean spills out comforts. But whether they’re for himself or for Cas, he can’t tell.

“You’re gonna be fine, Cas, you got that? We’ll get you to the hospital and you’ll be fine—“

“I…I know, Dean,” Cas whispers, his hand slipping a little.

Dean growls.

“Don’t you dare,” he snaps. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

He grabs Cas’s hand, squeezing it. “You are not gonna die because of some shitty vampire. You’re gonna be up and kicking long after the rest of us are gone, I know it.”

Dean can barely speak past the tears choking his voice.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Cas murmurs. His hand has gone limp, but Dean holds the pressure to the bite on his neck, blinking away the tears.

“C’mon, Cas, c’mon.” he whispers.

Cas doesn’t answer him. He’s breathing weakly, one hand clinging loosely to the front of Dean’s bloodstained shirt.

  
Dean’s barely conscious of what happens after Sam pulls up to the ER. He remembers the rush of the EMTs, the flurry of shouted orders and Cas being ripped from his hands—he remembers darting after them, screaming at the top of his lungs, and Sam barely restraining him.

He doesn’t remember passing into unconsciousness, if was sleep or fatigue or the stress finally getting to him.

  
Dean blinks open his eyes, his face squished against his brother’s arm. He hastily sits up, wiping the drool from his mouth.

He looks up to apologize, but Sam’s face is drawn, his mouth a thin line. Dean’s stomach drops.

“Sam?” He whispers.

Sam shakes his head. Dean thinks his heart stops beating.

“I wanted to let you sleep,” he mumbles. Dean shoves back from him, his eyes wild.

“Is he—“

He gasps.

“Sam, is he—“

Then Sam’s hands are on his shoulders, solid and calming.

“Oh, god no—he’s fine,  _fine._ ”

Dean melts, grabbing to his arm for support.

“Jesus, Sam—I—I thought—“

He hiccups, sucking down air. Sam steadies him.

“No—shit, Dean. He’s stable. I checked on him earlier.”

He grasps his shoulder.

“Go.”

  
As soon as they let him, Dean practically runs to his side, snatching up Cas’s hand from the bed. The fear slowly melts away as he takes in Cas’s measured breathing, his even vitals in the monitor beside his bed.

Dean sinks his head to the sheets, sucking in a shuddered breath.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “Fuck, Cas—I’m so sorry.”

He freezes when the hand squeezes back.

“For what?”

Dean just barely stops himself from launching on top of the guy.

“Jesus, Cas, you almost died, and I—“

Dean halts, reaching out hesitantly. He finds his jaw, and the edge of the bandage taped to his throat.

“I don’t know what I would have done,” he murmurs, his throat choked.

Dean realizes Cas is staring at him, and that his hand is still on his cheek. He hastily draws back.

“Never do that again,” he says firmly, fighting to keep his voice even. Cas blinks, a little bewildered. But then he smiles, and there’s a glint of amusement in those eyes.

“Alright.”

Dean sighs shakily, sitting back down. Cas reaches out, finding his hand again.

"Will you stay?" He asks quietly. He slips his fingers into Dean’s, and Dean wordlessly lets him.

Cas’s eyes start to droop. “Tired,” he mumbles.

Dean swallows, scooting closer.

"Yeah, Cas," he murmurs, squeezing his hand. "Of course."

 


	21. Blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/93224527973/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-blush)
> 
> Cas gets stung by a jellyfish. Lifeguard!Dean

“Should I pee on you?”

“Please don’t.”

“I heard that was a thing. That’s totally a thing, right? Peeing on a jellyfish sting?”

“I heard that was a myth,” Castiel says dryly. The pain claws up his leg again, and he winces, gritting his teeth.

“Gabriel, can you go get help or something?”

Gabriel peers intently at his leg, chewing at his fingernails.

“It’s not poisonous is it? Are you going to die? Maybe it was a box jelly. They’re really poisonous, so you die in like five minutes or something.”

“Gabe, I swear to god—“

“Alright, calm yourself. I sent someone to get the lifeguard. Chill, bro.”

 

Castiel blows out his breath, sinking back on his elbows.

_Come to the beach, Cas,_ they said.  _It’ll be fun,_ they said.

  
“Heard we got a sting over here.”

A shadow falls over Castiel’s face, and he squints, blinking up at the guy.

“Unfortunately.”

The lifeguard squats down, chewing his lip.

“Yeah, that’s a nasty one.”

He gently takes his ankle, looking closer.

“Doesn’t look like there’s any stingers still in there,” he says. “That’s good.”

“Should I pee on him?”

“Gabe.”

The guy laughs.

“No, no. No pee. Vinegar though. We got some back at the station.”

He extends a hand, and Castiel grabs it. The man pulls him up, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, smiling at him. “I’m Dean.”

Castiel nods, gingerly hopping to avoid putting weight on his foot.

“Castiel.”

“Well, Castiel,” Dean says, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You’re not gonna die. We don’t get poisonous jellies around here. It’ll just hurt like a bitch for a couple of days.”

“I think I was more worried about Gabriel attempting to pee on me,” Castiel says wryly, leaning a little on Dean as they slowly make their way across the beach.

Dean laughs. “Right, Mr. Trigger Happy back there.”

He glances behind him. “Who apparently is totally cool with just chillin’ in the shade while you get patched up.”

Castiel grumbles.

“Well, that’s an older brother for you.”

“Hey now. I’m an older brother,” Dean says, smirking.

“And I’m the youngest of six,” Castiel says, wincing when he accidentally steps on a rock.

Dean whistles. “Hoo. I take it back. I got nothin’ on you.”

He squeezes him a little.

“But you know what? Now you’ll have a cool story to tell at dinner.”

  
They get to the station, and Dean ushers him inside, out of the sun into the blissfully cool room.

Dean helps him up onto the counter, telling him to stick his legs in the sink as he grabs something from the closet.

“This’ll burn a little.”

He douses him with vinegar, and Castiel hisses, gripping the edge of the counter. But once it fades, his leg does feel a little better. The sting is still throbbing weakly, but it’s bearable.

“Thanks,” Castiel says, as Dean starts to wind his leg with gauze.

“Hey, no problem.” He smiles up at him. “Made my day a hell of a lot more exciting.”

“Yeah?”

Dean snorts. “Swimmers at this beach are too damn smart. I can’t remember the last time I did anything except get the occasional band-aid and yell at surfers for being in the wrong zone.”

“Well.” Castiel winces a little as Dean starts taping up the bandage on his leg. “Sorry to break your perfect streak.”

Dean shakes his head quickly.

“Oh, no, man. Don’t apologize.” He holds out a hand to help him down from the counter. “I get to be the vinegar-wielding hero who saves the hot guy at the beach.”

Castiel turns bright red. Dean clears his throat.

“Uh, I—“

He blushes too.

“I may have seen you around before. And I’m a horrible person for kind of hoping you would have a drowning scare just so I could talk to you.”

“Uh,” Castiel says intelligently.

Oh great, very smooth. He wants to bang his head against the nearest flat surface.

“Guess the jellyfish was my wingman,” Dean says, giving him a shy smile.

“Hey.”

Castiel swallows. He still hasn’t let go of his hands. Dean really is very hot. And very shirtless.

“Next time, choose a less painful wingman.”

Dean grins.

“Next time?”

  
*

  
After Dean helps Castiel hobble to his car, he dips down to whisper something in his ear before running away back over the sand. Gabriel comes out of the bathroom, whistling.

“Jesus Christ, you were in there forever. What were you doing?”

Castiel flushes.

“Nothing. Just talking.”

Gabriel squints.

“What are you blushing about?” He says, loud enough for the entire beach to hear.

“None of your damn business,” Castiel retorts, sliding into the front seat, trying to avoid jostling his leg.

Gabriel turns the key in the ignition, grinning toothily at him.

“Oooh, Castiel’s got a boyyyyyyyyyfriendddddd—“

“No,” Castiel says evenly. “Just a date.”

“And a—OH MY GOD, IS THAT A HICKEY?”

Castiel claps a hand over his neck.

“NO.”

“ _Damn_ , Cas. They really take it seriously with the whole tender lovin’ care thing—“

“And you’re done now.”

“Maybe next time I’ll try drowning. Wouldn’t mind a lifeguard of my own. You think he’s got a brother?”

“DRIVE, GABRIEL.”

 


	22. Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/93321935074/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-garden%22)
> 
> Canon

Castiel talks sometimes, when they’re lying side-by-side, sweat cooling in the air of Dean’s room. He tells him everything, as far back as he can remember, weaving these beautiful pictures and stories that leave Dean feeling very small. Yet at the same time, it fills him with a strange sense of warmth, a gentle heat he imagines radiating from Cas’s voice, floating green and hot through the air. When Dean searches around for a word for the feeling, he comes up with blessed.

Because Dean is holding a vast universe in his arms, millennia and eons of time and knowledge spun up into human skin. It is his privilege to touch him.

It’s sweet, in a way. Castiel tells him all the things Dean is never brave enough to ask about, and instead of terrifying him, the way all his past experiences with something this close to love have terrified him, he only feels peace.

“On the first day, God said, ‘Let there be light.’”

Dean can barely hear Cas—that sleep-rough voice of his muffled by the press of the pillows and his lips against Dean’s side.

“We were so young,” he mumbles. “But I saw it all. It all came to be, the water, the land, the first breath of life…”

He sighs. They’re silent for a moment, just breathing each other in.

“The Garden was so beautiful, Dean,” Cas murmurs, as Dean slowly drags his fingers through his hair. “I only saw it three times before my Father locked it away for good, but…”

His hand finds his, and he lazily loops their fingers together.

“I often believe that if I had a Heaven, it would look like the Garden,” he says softly.

“But then, Gadreel—“

He tightens up, and can’t continue. Dean swallows.

It’s easy to forget sometimes, when Cas is curled up beside him, that the same swirling power can so swiftly turn to rage. Dean’s been on the receiving end of that before.

He drifts his hands rhythmically over his back until the tension dissolves, and Castiel sighs, turning his face into his neck.

“I wish you could have seen it, Dean,” he says quietly.

Dean smiles. “Me too.”

 

Castiel is silent for a moment, cool and thoughtful as Dean listens to his breath.

“My brothers and sisters all talked about it, of course,” he says. “They said it looked different to everyone. Smelled different. Lightning, or roses, a late summer breeze…”

He drifts off, and for a second, Dean thinks he’s fallen asleep. Maybe that’s why Dean lets himself ask.

“What was yours, Cas?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. But then his hand drifts, over his chest, coming to settle over Dean’s heart.

 

“You,” Cas says simply. “Home.”


	23. Lace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/93421948643/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-lace-two)
> 
>  
> 
> College AU  
> Trivia Night!

“Two old ladies poison people in this play by Joseph Kesselring, titled ‘Arsenic and Old—what?’”

“LACE,” Cas blurts. Charlie twists in her seat and claps a hand over his mouth.

“Jesus. Tell the whole bar, will you?” She mutters.

Sam scoffs indignantly, marking in the answer. Cas giggles, sinking against her hand. She smiles mischievously and tugs him under her arm, messing up his hair. Cas scowls and manages to get away, surfacing with a spectacular knot of bedhead.

“Dude, next time, lower the volume,” Dean chides, elbowing him.

Cas presses a finger to his lips, shaking his head.

“Roger that.”

 

The announcer picks up his mic again, and they all fall silent, waiting for the question.

“The Baby Ruth candy bar was named after which real person?”

They all frown, mulling it over.

Kevin bites at his straw.

“Babe Ruth? Or is that too obvious?”

“You tell me, Advanced Placement,” Charlie says.

“Shut up.”

Sam glances at Dean, but he just shrugs, taking another sip of his beer.

“You got me.”

“Ruth Cleveland,” Cas says, swaying a little. “Daughter of President Grover Cleveland, first baby girl ever born in the White House,” he finishes, a dizzy smile on his face.

They all blink at him. Jesus. Even drunk Cas was their best asset on Trivia Night.

Sam writes it down and gets up to turn in the sheet. Cas props his chin on his hand, grinning lazily at Dean.

“Thank you for dragging me out of our apartment. I didn’t know it was going to be this much fun.”

Dean snorts. Of course. Cas, with his apparent allergy to social interaction, had whined and bitched all day about Dean making him come out tonight, but then had taken to trivia like a fish to water. Dean was a little worried, seeing as he’d never met Charlie, and she was fiercely protective of their team’s stellar record. But she loved Cas immediately, despite his holier-than-thou vocabulary and tendency to miss social graces. And of course his near-encyclopedic knowledge was a plus, too.

Said red-headed geek best friend gives a suggestive eyebrow raise from over Cas’s shoulder, leering at them. Dean kicks her under the table.

“Told you, man. I knew you’d be good at this.”

Currently, the night had gone awesome. The first round was Star Trek, which he and Charlie dominated at, obviously—but then there was some weird grab bag round which Sam and Cas equally shared the credit for, due to their complete nerdiness. Currently, they were sitting in $60 worth of gift cards, and totally ready to win some more.

“Music round!” The announcer says, and Dean nearly chokes as Cas sinks against him.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, and Dean swears he might have actually died, hearing that obscenity on Cas’s lips.

“What?” He asks, a little shakily.

“Think I shoulda stopped ‘bout three drinks ago,” Cas mumbles. Dean laughs.

“S’okay, dude. I’ll make sure you stay vertical,” he says, and he thinks he manages to sound casual. “Here, have some water.”

Cas sobers a little bit through the music round, which has most of them completely puzzled.

“I have no idea what this song is.”

“I swear they just put one of the bartenders’ iPods on shuffle and let it go.”

Kevin snorts. “Probably.”

The next song plays, and Dean snaps his fingers.

“Mr. Night, Kenny Loggins,” he says triumphantly.

Sam nods.

“Nice one.”

“Good job,” Cas says dreamily, smiling at him. Dean’s stomach flips.

“Hey lovebirds.”

Dean whips his head around, glaring at her. Cas luckily doesn’t seem to notice.

She grins. “Tab’s here. Fork it over.”

They squabble over the bill as the dude comes on the mic for the final scores, and they all whoop, declared victorious once again.

They spill out of the bar half an hour later, laughing and hugging and saying their goodbyes. Kevin, ever the patient DD, shoves Charlie and Sam in his car and starts fighting his way through traffic, while Dean ends up supporting a completely wasted but happy Cas back home, drunk off his victory and definitely at least six shots of whiskey.

“We did it,” Cas slurs and Dean laughs, pulling his arm around his shoulders. Cas grins, grateful for the help.

"Hell yeah, we did." 

Dean’s kind of glad they only live five minutes away, but also kind of guiltily wishes it was farther, just so he can keep holding Cas. 

“Don’t fall over on me, dude,” Dean laughs, when Cas nearly trips again. He takes a grip of his hand, helping Cas navigate the treacherous sidewalk up to their apartment.

“Ohhhh, but I have,” Cas says. “I have fallen for you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean freezes.

_What?_

“Um.”

Cas swings around so fast that Dean nearly drops him.

“Fallen in every way imaginable,” he mumbles, draping his arms around his neck.

Dean’s brain is shouting at him to say something back, but his voice isn’t exactly functioning at the moment.

Cas peers up intently at him, and Dean swallows.

“Uh…Cas. You’re kinda drunk,” he stutters out.

_Great, Winchester. Smooth._

Cas frowns.

“And?” He says, managing that snark Dean loves so much, even now.

“Um. Kinda makes me question your judgment,” Dean says, mentally cringing as he does. But he had to say something. He would have hated himself forever if he let Cas do something he would regret in the morning.

Cas sighs.

“You are insufferable,” he mumbles. He still hasn’t stopped staring. 

“But I suppose I am grateful you’re trying to respect my dignity,” Cas says, drawing his arms back. 

Dean swallows, both relieved and torn. He just hopes this hasn’t screwed anything up between them.

“Tell you what.”

Cas steadies himself, hands on Dean’s shoulders.

“We’ll go home. We’ll go to sleep. Then in the morning, I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay?” He says, completely sincere.

Dean blinks.

“Uh.”

_SAY SOMETHING, DEAN, DAMMIT_

“Okay,” he blurts.

Cas smiles.

“Okay.”

 


	24. Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/93514829433/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel)
> 
> Canon

  
“I have decided to pursue your brother romantically.”

Sam chokes on his eggs.

“I was thinking I would give him a gift to show my intentions,” Castiel says, folding his hands calmly. “What do you think?”

“Uh.”

Sam coughs violently, trying to clear his airway.

“Dunno if I’m the best person to ask, Cas,” he says, hastily gulping some water.

He makes his escape out of the kitchen not long after, muffling his laughter the whole way.

Undeterred, Castiel consults some online sources.

 

_If you’re stuck on gift ideas, try getting him something useful!_

  
Surely Dean goes through a large amount of ammunition, Castiel thinks. Perhaps he was in need of some shells. Very useful.

  
*

  
Castiel scrapes together all the cash he can find—the various change Dean has let him keep, what he’s found in the couch—and lastly, borrows ten dollars from Sam, triumphantly presenting Dean with a box of shells.

“Oh, dude, did Sam tell you I was running low?” He says enthusiastically. “Thanks.”

He claps him on the shoulder, then heads off down the hall.

Castiel frowns. Back to the drawing board.

  
*

  
Dean wears quite a lot of flannel. Perhaps a different type of shirt would satisfy him.

Castiel comes up behind Dean where he’s sitting, leaning back precariously in his chair as he reads.

Castiel holds out the shirt, but before he can say anything, Dean grabs it.

“Need this sewn up, Cas?”

Castiel fumbles.

“No, I—“

“Don’t recognize it,” Dean says absently, checking it over. “Is it one of Sammy’s old ones?”

Castiel sighs exasperatedly.

“No, Dean.”

Dean stands, pushing back from the table.

“I’ll fix her up for you,” he says. “No worries.”

He flashes Cas a smile, and slips out of the room yet again.

Castiel fumes, taking out his frustration on an unfortunate nearby door, slamming it so hard it rattles in its ancient hinges.

  
*

  
He turns back to the Internet.

  
_If you’re feeling particularly adventurous, buy something special to use in the bedroom. ;)_

  
Castiel squints, thinking. Dean had been complaining about a hole in his sheets the other day.

  
*

  
“Sammy you change my sheets?” Dean yells from his room.

“No!” Sam yells back.

  
*

  
Castiel sees the signs in the windows almost a full month before the actual holiday.

“Valentine’s Day?” He asks, as they walk down the aisles of the supermarket.

Sam scratches his chin, nodding.

“Yep.”

Then he laughs, elbowing him.

“Remember Cupid?”

“Vividly,” Castiel says. “And Famine.”

But he nods, bringing the cart to a halt.

“This would be a prime opportunity to make my intentions clear,” he muses, peering at the cardboard cutouts of fat little babies shooting arrows. Quite misrepresentative.

“It is customary to give chocolates, correct?” He asks.

Sam nods, smirking. “Yeah, it is.”

He turns, grabbing something off one of the shelves.

“Dean likes this kind,” he says, shoving a box into Castiel’s hands.

“Maybe he’ll finally get the picture.”

  
*

  
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Castiel says.

Dean blinks up at him.

“Uh. Thanks, dude.”

He takes the box of chocolates, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“But…um…you’re really only supposed to get someone a gift if you’re, like, interested in them—“

“Dean, I have been repeatedly trying to give you gifts,” Castiel says exasperatedly. “You are very obtuse sometimes.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “ _Oh_ ,” he says again, his eyes widening.

“Um.”

He looks back down at the box.

“Thanks,” he says gruffly, his cheeks quickly turning pink. “Really.”

Castiel smiles.

“You’re welcome.”

Dean pops open the box and takes a chocolate, before shoving it towards Castiel, insisting they share.

“I don’t have anything for you,” he says, after a moment.

“Perhaps you can give me something in the bedroom,” Castiel says, oblivious.

Dean chokes.

 


	25. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/93603280123/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-rain)

  
Dean glances up.

The bell’s been kinda jingling all day, due to the incessant rain that is currently threatening to break down their door.

Dean checks his watch, yet again. Three hours, and a grand total of two people had trickled in. Despite the fact that Dean’s homemade apple pie is the best in the tri-county area.

He pulls the rag from off his shoulder, scrubbing at an imaginary spot on the counter. He isn’t really sure why he let Sam talk him into opening this shop in the first place.

_We’d be good at it, Dean,_  he had said.  _Bobby wanted us to use the money this way._

Dean sighs. Leave it to his little brother to execute the best guilt-trip the world had ever seen.

The bell rings again, violently this time, and Dean sighs. He’s seriously tempted to rip the thing out of its hold and fling it into the nearest body of water.

He looks up to glare at the offending contraption, and freezes. Because there’s someone in the doorway, soaking wet, and looking completely irritable, ice blue eyes locked on his.

“Um. Hey,” Dean says eventually, after staring at the guy for a good thirty seconds.

“Hello,” he responds tersely, slouching up to the counter.

 

“I’ve never seen this place before,” he remarks, as he digs a battered wallet out of his pocket. Dean tries not to sound too excited.

“Yeah?”

He writes down his order, fighting the urge to ogle the guy, whose t-shirt is practically plastered to his skin.

“What brings you around here, then?” Dean says, after telling him his total.

The man frowns darkly, slapping some half-drenched bills on the counter.

“I was not aware it was raining. This was the first place I saw.”

“Dude, it’s been raining since eight a.m.,” Dean says automatically. He winces when the guy’s frown deepens.

“Unfortunately—or fortunately—I spend most of my time researching for a fellowship in a room without windows, so I was blissfully unaware of the weather until I walked outside about five minutes ago.” He slides off his tan coat, trying to shake it out, but it’s completely soaked.

“Y’know, we got a heater in the back,” Dean blurts. “I can set it there for a while. If you want.”

The man looks at him for a moment, but then extends the coat.

“Thank you.”

  
Dean drops it off on the heater, carefully arranging it so it wont get singed by the temperamental thing, and rushes back to stare at the dude, who has retreated to a table with a cup of coffee and—to Dean’s eternal triumph—a slice of his famous pie, currently sitting untouched as he unhurriedly sips from his cup. And Dean is twitching.

He ends up calling Sam.

  
“Dude. Talk me off the ledge,” he spills out as soon as his brother picks up.

“Guy or girl?” Sam asks, and Dean can hear the distractedness in his voice.

Dean sighs.

“Guy. Ordered my pie, gorgeous, his coat is currently sitting on our space heater,” he mutters, side-eyeing the man. He doesn’t seem too disgusted with his choice of refuge from the rain, but he does seem to look out the window every few minutes. Probably waiting to escape.

“Calm down, Dean.”

Sam’s voice is calm and level-headed on the other end, filled with a patience Dean knows he doesn’t really deserve.

He hangs up on his little brother after a thoroughly unsatisfying pep talk and takes a deep breath, walking over to the guy.

“Sorry you got drenched,” is the only thing he can think of to say.

The guy glances up, giving him a slight smile.

“It’s fine. Broke me out of my routine,” he says, after a moment.

He starts fiddling with his plate.

“You had this place long?”

Dean shrugs.

“Just a couple months.”

The man nods.

"Business hasn’t been the best," Dean mumbles under his breath.

“Is that so?”

He glances over towards the counter, seeming to debate something.

“How many pies do you have made currently?” He asks, those eyes sliding to his again. 

“Uh.”

Dean flicks through his memory, counting.

“Three.”

“I’ll take them,” the man says promptly. “And I would like to commission at least ten more for tomorrow. Is that alright?”

Dean blinks.

“Um—yeah,  _jeez_ ,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “What—“

“I have a rather large family, and it’s my sister’s birthday tomorrow,” he muses, not looking particularly thrilled at the thought. “I am in charge of dessert.”

Dean waves a hand.

“Well, damn, you sure? You don’t have to pick up the first thing you find, I mean—“

“This is the best apple pie I have ever had,” the man says, completely sincere. Dean flushes.

His brain is telling him he should thank the dude, but his pride is crowing victoriously, so instead—

“Damn straight,” Dean blurts.

Oh fuck.

“Shit, I meant thank you, um—“

But the guy is laughing.

“Nothing wrong with taking pride in your work.”

  
He invites him to sit, and Dean sinks into the chair, still reeling. They talk for almost an hour, and Dean learns that his name is Castiel, and he spends most of his time reading about obscure diseases, and that he’s completely hilarious and completely smart and completely out of Dean’s league.

“Rain’s stopped,” Castiel says idly, and Dean glances up too. Shit. He hadn’t even noticed.

Castiel looks at his watch then, and starts to push back from the table.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Oh right.”

Dean stands hastily.

“Um—lemme get your coat—“

He hands it to him, and proceeds to box up the pies he’s got sitting in the display case. He’s going to have to do some marathon baking tonight. Maybe he’ll force Sam to drag his ass over here and help.

Castiel signs his receipt, writes something on it, then slides it over.

“My number,” he says, extending the pen. “For when the pies are ready.” He smiles.

Dean takes the pen, but Castiel doesn’t let go.

“Or you know.”

Castiel smiles.

“If you need to get talked off another ledge.”

Dean thinks he manages to keep his jaw from dropping completely.

Castiel, that sneaky bastard, smiles and slips out the door, that obnoxious bell jingling in his wake.

Dean blinks dazedly, saying the only thing that comes to mind.

  
“Son of a bitch.”

 


	26. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/93695265588/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel)
> 
>  
> 
> Canon

**The Five Stages of ~~Grief~~  Realizing You’re In Love With An Angel of The Lord**

(feat. Dean Winchester)

  
_Stage One: Denial_

  
“Dude. I don’t have a  _thing_  for Cas!”

  
Sam merely raises an eyebrow, that irritating smirk on his face. Dean is sputtering, still reeling from Sam’s sudden accusation.

“I don’t, Sam, Jesus! How could you even think that?”

  
Because he doesn’t, okay? Dean totally doesn’t. He was just expressing his recent  _concerns_  for the newly-human Castiel, and the fact that he seemed to get hit on nearly every place they went, and then Sam had dropped  _that_  on him. Hell to the fuckin’ no.

Dean’s just worried. Worried, right. Because Cas is his responsibility too, now. The guy was thrown headfirst into humanity, and Dean needs to make sure he doesn’t get hurt.

Sam folds his hands calmly, a patience in his voice that makes Dean think he’s been planning this attack for months.

Shit. Months?

“Dean, I’ve seen jealous on you before,” Sam says, completely serious. “And this is looking awfully similar.”

Dean stares at him. He stubbornly shakes his head.

“I— _no_ —Sam, I—“

Dean opens his mouth furiously, but nothing comes out.

He just scowls and storms off, slamming the door to his room closed.

  
_Stage Two: Anger_

  
Dean grumbles all the way to the diner. He had gotten fed up and escaped to the safety of his Baby, mostly because he couldn’t stand one more minute looking at his brother’s stupid smug face without wanting to punch it. And Cas may or may not have come out of the shower, hair all sticking up and beads of water still clinging to his skin and—

“AUGH.”

Dean yells loudly, and the couple at the stoplight next to him shrinks back, flooring it as soon as the light turns green.

Dean slams his car door and stomps up to the diner, throwing himself in the first seat he finds. Once he orders and gets his food, he calms a bit, but he’s still fuming.

No. Fuck Sam. Sam was an idiot. He didn’t know anything. He didn’t know shit about him and Cas.

They’d gone through Hell together, literally and figuratively, and of course they were close. Who wouldn’t be, after all that crap?  Cas has saved Dean’s life a million times over. Betrayed him nearly that many times too. Hell, if he should be angry at anyone, it should be fuckin’ Cas.

Yet Dean always forgave him. Because…they were friends. Best friends. Platonic best friends, who definitely don’t have suggestive dreams about the other and who definitely don’t feel like the world is an empty void when they’re not around, and—

“More coffee?”

“I DON’T HAVE A THING FOR CAS!” Dean yells.

  
The whole diner falls silent. He swallows and glances around. Everyone is staring at him.

The waitress blinks.

“Whatever you say, honey.”

  
_Stage Three: Bargaining_

  
Dean is sitting with his cheek propped on his hand, biting anxiously at his lip.

They had all retreated to the library to do some extra research, and Cas was currently nose-deep in a book on ancient Assyrian sigils. Dean is ignoring his own book for purposes of watching Cas, but trying desperately to look like he’s not, mostly so Sam won’t catch him in the act of ogling.

Cas’s brow furrows when he reads, and he’s tucked a pencil behind his ear. (Dean wonders where he picked that up.) He methodically turns through the pages, licks his lips every so often, and Dean—

Dean sinks his head down into his own book, and he groans.

God. He is so screwed.

  
Then he huffs, sitting back.

Okay. Maybe…he thought Cas was…um. Attractive. Nothing wrong with that. He could appreciate good looks in other men. It didn’t mean anything.

Dean kneads his temple, closing his eyes.

Maybe Sam was messing with him. Yeah, that’s it. They’re brothers, they’re supposed to prank each other. That’s what they do.

_Pretty cruel prank_ , his brain says.

He grumbles under his breath, snatching up his own pencil from the table.

Well, okay. Let’s think.

  
Cas wasn’t technically a dude. So Dean didn’t really have to freak out about this. He didn’t have to panic.

He starts twirling the thing in his fingers, gripping it until his hands start to hurt.

Because it’s irrelevant, right? Cas would still be the same even if he somehow got stuck in a chick’s body. He’d still be sweet. And funny. And caring, and super freakin’ badass. It’s  _completely_  irrelevant that right now he’s got nice dark hair and amazing arms and the clearest eyes Dean’s ever seen. And a dick.

  
Dean snaps his pencil in half.

  
_Stage Four: Depression_

  
Dean flops back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

He doesn’t feel like doing anything. He doesn’t want to eat, or sleep, or go for a drive, or anything. He sighs. 

It just might be the funk he’s slipped into, ever since he realized his feelings for his best friend weren’t exactly platonic—thanks to an interfering brother and very inconveniently timed dirty thoughts. And once that realization had hit, his brain had launched into overdrive, finding every single reason why it would never work.

  
They were hunters. Their lives were bloody and dark, and full of crap. It just didn’t lend itself to romance. Not at all. Every time he or Sammy tried, it always ended badly. Why would this be any different?

Dean brings his hands to his eyes, pressing down until he sees little stars.

And Jesus Christ—Cas was an angel. Even if they could love—(And was that blasphemous? Sacrilegious?)—why in the world would  _Castiel_  ever choose someone like  _Dean_?

There’s no way he’s good enough. All the crap he’s done, all the crap he  _is_ —Cas knows all about that. He knows all about Dean’s black spots.

_But he’s still here,_  a small voice in the back of his mind says.

Dean smothers it, rolling over and burying his face in the cushions.

  
Cas will never think of Dean in that way.

  
_Stage Five: Acceptance_

  
Dean stares into the mirror.

_I am in love with Cas._

He’s been standing at the sink for a good ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to say it out loud.

_I am in love with Cas._

  
It had been only a week—one friggin’ week since Sam’s stupid suggestion—and in those short seven days, Dean has realized something that made the last six years make a hell of a lot more sense.

_I am in love with Cas._

Dammit.

Say it, Dean. Just say it.

“I’m in luh,” he chokes out. But he can’t force his mouth to say the rest.

“Luh. Luhv—love. With. Um.”

Dean tightens his grip on the sink. Say, it Winchester. Come on. you can do it.

“ _I am in love with Cas_ ,” he blurts.

“Dean?”

  
Dean whips his head around, to see Cas standing frozen in the doorway, day-old stubble on his face and toothbrush comically frozen in front of his mouth.

Dean blanks. He knows he’s probably supposed to run away or something, but he can’t move.

“Is that—“

Cas swallows.

“Is that true?”

“Uh,” Dean says intelligently.

  
Cas is staring at him, something like a flicker of hope in his eyes, and Dean—

Fuck it.

He abandons words for favor of showing Cas just exactly how true that is.

The toothbrush clatters away to the floor, but neither of them notice.

 


	27. Pillow Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/93791539193/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-pillow)
> 
> Strangers!AU

  
Castiel glances over.

The stranger next to him is still poking at the newspaper with his pencil. He hasn’t filled in a single square.

Castiel drags his eyes back to the paragraph he’s tried to read at least six times. He should be thanking his lucky stars, really, that he managed to get a seat on the crowded 7:45 train into the city, and that he can try to catch up on his reading for once. But the crossword is bugging him.

“Adeste,” Castiel whispers. The man looks up.

“Say what?” He says, frowning at him.

Castiel clears his throat.

“Um. Adeste Fideles. It’s a Christmas hymn. 47 Down.”

The man turns back to the paper. “Oh.”

He flashes him a quick smile.

“Thanks.”

He scratches in the answer, frowning at the clues again.

“Then that makes this ‘addle’,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

He seems to get a jumpstart after that, and Castiel smiles. He did his small good deed for the day, and interacted with an attractive stranger to boot. He’ll count that as a win.

He turns back to his book, only looking up when he’s occasionally jostled by the flood of people rushing in and out the doors.

“Hey.”

 

  
Castiel turns, and the guy smiles, tapping the page.

“Got any idea for 36 Across?”

He shifts the paper over, so Castiel can see better.

“Humerus neighbor,” he reads. “Ulna.”

“Ulna?”

“Yeah. Bone in the arm.”

“Oh. Ohhh, okay. Duh.”

The man fills it in, shaking out the page a little.

“My mom used to do the Sunday Crossword all the time. In pen.” He laughs. “Guess I didn’t inherit her skills.”

“I think it becomes easier with practice.”

Castiel sets down his book, squinting at the page.

"From what I can tell, they recycle answers quite frequently. Like that one.” He points to the word they just filled in. “I’ve definitely seen it before. And this is a Thursday puzzle, which means it’s harder.”

The man seems surprised at that.

“Oh, whoa. Really?”

Castiel laughs.

“Yeah. They get harder every day. Monday’s easiest, Friday is hardest.”

“Damn,” the guy grumbles. “Just figured I’d try something different this morning. Bad day to start, I guess.”

Castiel closes his book, tapping his fingers against the cover.

“Well, I…I don’t mind helping. If—if you want.”

The guy looks up, a wide smile crossing his face.

“Yeah, man. Thanks.”

*

Time flies by, and it isn’t long until they’re on the last clue.

“ Double L and a W and an F?” The man scratches his head, peering at the paper. “It’s gotta be two words.”

Castiel scoots a little closer.

“What’s the clue again?”

He points with the tip of his pencil, reading aloud.

“’Softer than Knox’. Whatever the hell that means.”

Castiel mulls it over.

Knox…Did that mean Fort Knox?

“Pillow fort?”

They both look down to see if it fits. Amazingly, it does.

“Dude— _pillow fort_?”

The man scoffs, but writes it in. “That’s the stupidest clue I’ve ever seen. Who wrote this?”

Castiel laughs. The man scowls at the paper for a moment before tucking it away, grumbling under his breath.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually built a pillow fort,” Castiel says absently.

“Dude, really?” The guy zips up his bag. “They’re awesome.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. His cheeks turn pink.

“Well. I mean.”

He leans back in his seat, running a hand through his hair.

“Last time I actually made one was like, ten years ago. But I remember it being pretty kickass,” he says, flashing him that dizzying smile.

  
They’re so busy talking that Castiel doesn’t realize his stop is coming up until it’s announced over the speaker.

“Oh, this is me—“

He stands hastily gathering his things. The guy watches, chewing his lip.

“Hey, um. You take the train every morning?”

Castiel nods distractedly, fighting to gather up his coat and briefcase in the crowded train.

“See you tomorrow, then?”

Castiel snaps his head up, hardly daring to believe it.

The man shrugs. “Probably’ll need help again,” he says, kicking the bag with the crossword in it.

Castiel smiles.

  
*

  
“Enact. Try enact.”

“No, the c’s in the wrong spot—“

“Jason’s ship—Argo?”

“Oh, nice one.”

Every morning, Castiel fights his way through all the commuters to find Dean, which he learned was his name on the second morning, after they realized they hadn’t introduced themselves. He’d get on, 7:45 on the dot, and sink into the seat Dean saved for him. They’d trade off who’d be the scribe each day, fantasizing about the day when they’d upgrade to pen.

Castiel’s never been so happy to take the crowded and smelly train to work.

  
*

  
They’re squabbling over the final clues on the hardest one (Friday) and Castiel’s stop is only five minutes away. They’ve been doing this for two weeks, but this one is giving them a ridiculous amount of trouble.

“Niels Bohr. 29 Down.”

His stop looms closer, and Castiel chews his lip. He’s not really looking forward to the weekend. He found himself waking up last Saturday feeling strangely disappointed.

“I think it’s ‘amor’.”

“Amor?”

“Dude, yes, look it fits.”

Dean scribbles in the last letter just at the train pulls into the station. Castiel says goodbye and stands to leave, but Dean’s voice calls him back.

"Hey, here."

Dean holds out the finished puzzle, a shy smile on his face.

“It’s your trophy. For a job well done.”

Castiel smiles.

 

  
He holds the thing all the way up to his office, absentmindedly fiddling with the page corners. He drops his briefcase and tosses the paper on top of it, ready to sink into his chair.

  
He practically dives back over his desk to snatch it up when he sees a number written on the top.

  
_Cas, call me this weekend, okay? Think I’ll finally try the Sunday one, if you want to help. ;)_

_–Dean_

 


	28. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/93890747128/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-dancing)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Dancer!AU
> 
> you should totally listen to this [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4gH-qFeRa7E) while reading

“Please?”

“Hell no.”

“Dean,  _come on._ ”

“No way.”

“Dean Winchester, you dance on a stage all the damn time, what is the difference—“

“Yeah, but those people actually pay to come see us.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. Charlie is glaring at him, that red-hot stare of hers almost enough to guilt him into dancing with her.

Almost.

He’s really regretting ever agreeing to this outing that someone in the company arranged—claiming they all just needed to ‘get out’ and ‘blow off some steam.’ Great idea. A bunch of dancers going out to relax by—surprise, surprise—dancing.

“You are such a buzzkill.”

“Broken record, Charlie,” Dean mutters.

“Carrot Top is right, Winchester.” Meg leans back in her chair. “That stick is so far up your ass, I don’t think you even could get out on that floor.”

“Shut up, Meg,” Dean shoots back.

“Miss Bradbury.”

  
They all look up to see Cas—freakin’  _Cas_ —standing at their table. Dean immediately tries to stare at anything else.

“May I have this dance?” He asks, his eyes twinkling. Crap. Did he overhear them? How long had he been standing there?

Charlie shoots a triumphant grin over at Dean, before turning and taking the offered hand.

“I would love to.”

 

  
Dean watches as Cas leads her out to the floor, just as the band kicks up a new song. Dean stares after them, digging his fork into the table.

Meg notices his glare, and snorts, taking another sip of her drink.

“You okay there, Dean-o?”

Dean throws his fork down, trying to look indifferent.

“Fine,” he lies.

Because it’s not like he’s jealous or anything. Charlie doesn’t even swing that way, for God’s sake. But Dean might have a completely unrequited crush on the dark-haired and absolutely fucking talented dancer currently swinging his best friend all over the floor, and this is doing nothing to improve his mood.

He’s actually kind of surprised Cas didn’t ask Meg. They were partners on practically every routine they did, and everyone knew they were kind of a  _thing_. Cas has never so much as looked at Dean.

Dean watches the pair of them moodily. They are plenty of other couples, dancing in time to the music, but the two of them seem way too friggin’ close. Cas swings her around with an ease that Dean can’t help feel jealous at. He dips down to whisper in Charlie’s ear, and they both laugh, before whirling around again. Dean sighs.

“Yeah, we’re not doing this,” Meg says suddenly. She snatches Dean’s hand up from the table and yanks him up. “Come on.”

“Dude—“

Dean sputters, trying to pull away.

"Meg, what the hell—"

“No, Winchester. We’re dancing. Deal with it.”

Dean practically jumps when Meg takes his hands and places them on her hips. Because, sure, Meg was okay—they hadn’t spent too much time together, but her spitfire personality and easy banter with Charlie tended to put her in Dean’s plus column—but she still was kinda…Dean doesn’t know. He can’t help of think of her and Cas as an item, and he kind of irrationally hates her for that.

Meg starts moving her hips, and Dean is forced to actually pay attention and focus on the steps so he doesn’t accidentally clock her in the face, or do something embarrassing like trip over his own feet. He’s still feeling highly uncomfortable, not just because they’re dancing in public, but because Meg’s now practically grinding against him. And sure, Dean’s maybe fantasized about Patrick Swayze a bit too many times, and all this dirty dancing was hot, sure—but it was  _Meg._

Dean looks up, and his suspicions are confirmed when he sees Cas’s blue eyes suddenly staring at the pair of them, intense and piercing.

_Fuck._

“Um, Meg—“

She drapes an arm around his shoulders, doing some weird twisty thing that Dean just kinda goes with.

“What are you doing?” He mumbles. “You tryin’ to make him jealous of me, or something?”

Meg pulls back at that, squinting at him intently. Dean stares back, bewildered.

Her eyes widen in sudden realization, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. 

“Oh, I’m definitely trying to make him jealous of something.”

He doesn’t even have a chance to reply before she spins again, way faster than necessary, so Dean’s forced to grab her waist to stop her from falling. She slides against him, smirking.

“May I cut in?”

Dean’s knees nearly buckle when he hears Cas’s deep voice from over his shoulder. He immediately backs away from Meg.

“Yeah,” he mutters. He turns to head back to their table, trying to ignore the bitter feeling in his gut.

So he nearly has a heart attack when strong fingers catch his wrist and tug him back, and he suddenly finds himself with an armful of Cas.

  
He’s vaguely aware of Meg and Charlie linking arms and melting into the crowd, laughing triumphantly, but then Cas starts moving against him, and everything else blanks out completely.

Dean doesn’t understand it—he’s barely had two conversations with the guy, why would he ever—

Cas slips his hands around his waist, and Dean forgets how to breathe.

“Don’t think, just move,” Cas whispers.

He twines their fingers together, and then they’re dancing.

The thrum of the guitar, the press of the other couples and the heat from Cas’s body—it leaves Dean feeling dizzy, and he can swear every time they spin and turn around again, Cas’s hands always linger a little longer than necessary.

As the song continues, and as Dean realizes he isn’t going to completely fuck this up, he starts to relax. Cas is completely confident and perfect, as usual, and Dean gets brave enough to pull a few fancy moves of his own. Cas grins and responds in kind, and the shit they’re doing is probably way too complicated and is making them look stupid to everyone who’s watching, but Dean doesn’t  _care._ He never wants this to end.

It’s all so easy. Cas moves against him like he was made for it, and they laugh and talk and Dean doesn’t even realize it’s been three songs until the band announces they’re taking a break. Only when all the people around him start to clap and drift away does Dean snap out of it.

“Um.”

Cas laughs and slips a hand down to his.

"Eloquent."

Dean’s throat is dry, and his heart is pounding. He got lost in the heat of it all, but now he’s way too conscious of every single point of contact in between their bodies.

"Kinda hard to be smooth, around you," he mumbles. Cas snorts. 

"You were doing fine before."

He leads him away from the floor (Dean can see Charlie and Meg leering at them from their table) and they find themselves at the bar.

“Dean.”

Dean snaps his eyes back to Cas. Holy shit. He’s really close.

“If I buy you a drink,” he says, smiling. “Will you dance with me again?”

Dean can’t help but smile too.

"Yeah, Cas," he says. "Sure."

 


	29. Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/93983437183/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-teeth)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Wedding!AU  
> Photographer!Cas

“Big smile. Lots of teeth. Alright, there. That’s it.”

His flash goes off and the couple melts out of their forced poses, sinking back into their conversation. They ignore Castiel, and he drifts away into the crowd again.

He double-checks the photo on his display, nodding at the quality. He’s so distracted looking at the screen that he practically has to duck out of the way as a waiter whirls by with a tray of who knows what. Castiel shakes his head, retreating to a column near the corner of the room.  

The groom, a tall gangly thing named Sam (who almost lifted Castiel off his feet the first time he met him) was still on the dance floor, arms full of his new bride, Jess. He’s beaming, smile so wide his face might split in half, and Castiel finds himself also smiling as he snaps a couple candids of the two.

Castiel doesn’t really consider himself a hugger, but Sam had folded him into his gigantic embrace a total of five times just tonight, and wasn’t likely to stop there. Castiel had done a lot of weddings in his time, and he could usually judge the ones that were going to last. Both bride and groom looked so damn happy that they were about to explode. Castiel smiles. He’s got a good feeling about them.

“Oh, hey—I know you.”

 

Castiel turns to see a man lounging against the bar, his bow tie undone, and a glass of champagne in his hand. Castiel vaguely recognizes him. He had been standing up by the altar during the ceremony. He must be important.

“Photographer dude,” he says enthusiastically. “Thought I saw you skulking around.”

He gestures towards the seat next to him, and Castiel hesitates, but sits down.

“I think my mom hired you,” the guy says. “She was gushing about your portraits for practically weeks.”

Castiel flushes a little. His art on the side of paying the bills wasn’t what he usually showed clients, but he instantly liked the woman—Mary, he remembered. She was unusually sweet and kind, and patient when Castiel offered to show her his more artistic portfolio. This means the man currently in front of him must be brother to the groom—Dan? Dave, maybe?

“Yes, I remember her.” Castiel smiles fondly. “She’s a lovely woman.”

The guy snorts, but there’s a proud smile on his face.

“Don’t I know it.”

He sits up suddenly, gesturing towards the camera.

“Hey—is it cool if I see some of the pics you’ve taken? Or do I have to wait?” He asks, giving him a wink. Castiel bites his lip.

“No, of course—“

He hands him the camera, wondering if the man’s tipsy enough to accidentally drop his very expensive Nikon.

He scrolls through the pictures, laughing and smiling at a few, as Castiel sits there awkwardly. The guy seems to realize this after a few pictures and sits up suddenly.

“Oh, crap, rude of me—“

He gestures widely.

“Open bar, man. What’ll you have?”

Castiel stammers.

“Oh…I…I don’t know if that’s very professional—“

“Dude, one drink. Won’t kill you.”

The guy leans forward, smiling dangerously.

“And if anyone gets on your ass, you can send ‘em my way. I’m Dean, by the way,” he says, sticking out a hand. “So you can have a name for your scapegoat later.”

“I would never," Castiel deadpans, but he smiles and shakes his hand.

Dean somehow manages to get two glasses of champagne into him, and they’re lost in conversation for Castiel doesn’t know how long. It’s the most fun he’s ever had at one of these things.

Dean suddenly stops talking, looking over his shoulder at the rest of the guests.

“Shit, sorry—I’m a horrible person. You’re probably supposed to be taking pictures right? All the guests having fun and all that jazz?”

Castiel fiddles with his camera strap.

“Well, yes—“

“Well, come on.” Dean grabs his hand and pulls him up. “Let’s go.”

  
He starts to lead him on a tour of the room. Dean sneaks him into all the choice spots, engaging someone in conversation whenever Castiel wants a particular candid. And he gets some truly wonderful shots—Sam and his brother hugging, his mother tearing up at said embrace, Jess and her college friends deep in laughter.

  
Castiel checks through his roll afterwards, shaking his head.

“Thank you, Dean.” He looks up, smiling warmly. “These are amazing.”

Dean blushes a little, tousling up his hair.

“Hey. You took ‘em.”

“Yeah, but you helped.”

Dean gets a mischievous glint in his eyes and steps closer, poking him in the chest.

“And what about you, huh? How are we gonna remember the photographer?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“You don’t need to—“

“Bullshit.”

Dean snatches his camera, and points it at him, incorrectly adjusting the focus, but Castiel doesn’t comment.

“Come on, Cas. Gimme some teeth.”

Castiel smiles, but after the shutter clicks, Dean checks the display and scowls.

“Oh, come on. You can do better than that.”

He suddenly shifts to his side, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon. Hella expensive selfie.”

The picture comes out perfectly. Castiel is slightly turned towards him, eyes closed at Dean’s joke, full-throated laughter perfectly captured. Dean’s eyes are dancing even in the stillness of the frame.

  
It’s the best job Castiel has ever done. And when Dean contacts him after he delivers the photos, asking him out to dinner, well. Castiel can’t say no.

And five years later, Dean vehemently insists someone  _else_  take the pictures at their wedding, so he gets Castiel’s full attention for the night.

 


	30. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/94078759088/30-day-otp-writing-challenge-destiel-happy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want so say thank you for everyone that read these and left feedback! I hope you had as much fun reading these as I did writing them. Y'all are awesome.

  
Dean blinks his eyes open.

He doesn’t want to move. He feels all warm and relaxed—weighed down and heavy, swallowed up by the warmth of the sheets, the late morning sun, and Cas.

  
Dean tilts his head slightly, glancing down at the face next to him. He hasn’t stirred. His dark hair is still all wild and tangled up, brow furrowed slightly, as if his dreams were paining him.

Dean reaches out and brushes a thumb across those crinkles, and Cas makes a soft contented noise, his face loosening out into a relaxed smile. Dean mirrors him, moving in closer.

He still isn’t awake—well at least Dean thinks he isn’t—and this is the only time Dean really allows himself to let go. These open honest spaces between them when there’s nothing but love and acceptance, the steady pound of a heartbeat and warm hands on warm skin.

Dean’s been working on breaking down his walls, and its hard—god, it’s so hard—but with Cas by his side, it never feels like a struggle.

And it’s never going to be perfect. It’s never going to all fall into place. He knows there’s no such thing as happily ever after, not with the life they lead.

But as he takes in the calming weight of Cas by his side, the steady rhythm of his breath…

Dean thinks it’s something pretty damn close.

 


End file.
